- $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - - $#%::::::::: BEAT YOUR FISTS THROUGH THE STATIC & THE NOISE ::::::::%#$ - - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - _/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/ \/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\ /\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__ /\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/ \_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\ __/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/ \/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_ /\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\_ _/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\ _/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\__/\/\_/\/\/\_/\__/\_/\/\_/\/\/\__/\/\_/\/\ OINK, MOTHERFUCKER! _/\_ I AM A GODDAMN PIG. _/\_ OINK, MOTHERFUCKER! : ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: : /\/\/\ /\/\/\ /\/\/\ /\/\/\ /\/\/\ /\/\/\ /\/\/\ /\/\/\ <*BEEP*> <*BEEP*> <*BEEP*> <*BEEP*> <*BEEP*> <*BEEP*> <*BEEP*> <*BEEP*> \/\/\/ \/\/\/ \/\/\/ \/\/\/ \/\/\/ \/\/\/ \/\/\/ \/\/\/ IT'S ___ .--------------------. IT'S TOO /o O\ \ / | Gosh, what's wrong | TOO MUCH | ^_ | o|| | with my computer?! | GOOD FOR /\___/\// `--.-----------------' FOR YOU //| hoe!! | -' YOU | `\>\_____/ | `---:: _// \\_ ::---' : : : ~~~\.--------------------------------./~~~ : - $#%::::::::::::::: | HOE #1000: THE RETURN OF WAREZ | :::::::::::::::%#$ - ___/`--------------------------------'\___ {((( HELLO AND WELCOME! )))} I {((( THE TEXT FILE YOU ARE CURRENTLY RECEIVING )))} Are am {((( HAS BEEN SPECIALLY ENCODED WITH THE FUNKY )))} you alive {((( FINGERS OF DOZENS OF E-ZINE WRITERS. IT'S )))} alive ! {((( ENTIRELY POSSIBLE AFTER SOME ANALYSIS, AN )))} ? {((( ALERT READER WILL BE ABLE TO FIND SEVERAL )))} {((( SUBLIMINAL IDEAS, CONTRADICTIONS AND EVEN )))} No. {((( A LITTLE TOUCH OF CRAP. DO NOT BE AFRAID. )))} Yes. : ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: : : : : ~~~\.-----------------------./~~~ : - $#%:::::::::::::| Freaks Flock Together |:::::::::::::%#$ - : ___/`-----------------------'\___ : s$ $s : .d"$$"b. : $$ $$ .d""b. .d""b. $$ $$ $$ .d""b. $$ s$ .d""$$ : ::::::: $$""$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ : $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ .ass$$ $$ $$ ::::::: : $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ss$$ $$ $$ $$ $$ss$$ $$ $$ $$ "" $$ FZZZZZZZZ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ .d""$$ ZZZZZZZZT $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ "" $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ : ::::::: $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ : $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ $$ ::::::: : $$ $$ "TssT" "TssT" $$ $$ "TssT" "Tss$$ $$ "Tss$$ (tm) : : "" : " What does it all mean?!#@^ " : . . : :::::::::::::::::::::::::::: \\//////// :::::::::::::::::::::::::::: : | OiNK | 0 0 Rockin' Ya Brain \ / Blurrin' Tha Line (O O) ~~~~\ : :::::::::::::::::::::: Bringin' It ALL Together :::::::::::::::::::::: : <<<< HOE E'ZINE: LEADER OF THE NEW SCHOOL >>> <<<< The Real ASCII Underground >>>> ((( *NOW IN STEREO!* ))) ............................................................................ :::::::::::: WORK YOUR FINGERS TO THE BONE SITTING ON YOUR ASS ::::::::::::: """""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" Aww yeah! IT IS TIME. Aww yeah! \ " / _3_ \ " / : :: --- (*) --- --- (*) --- :: : / // \ _2_ / \\ \ \\ // no no NO no no NO no! // _1_ \\ no no NO no no NO no! _______________________\\_________________________//________________________ AWW SHIT YEAH %$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$% YA THINK YOU IT'S DA HOE1K %$$| .. |$$% CAN FUCK WIT DONTCHA YA BE %$$| .uef^" oe < .z@8"` |$$% HOE??? BOYEE STEPPIN' UPTA %$$| :d88E .@88 !@88E |$$% DONTCHA KNOW THIS MEGADOPE %$$| `888E ==*88888 '888E u |$$% DAT WE AIN'T PHATTY ROCKIN %$$| 888E .z8k 88888 888E u@8NL |$$% NO CHEAP OL' T-FILE CUS YA %$$| 888E~?888L 88888 888E`"88*" |$$% IMITATION NO KNOW WHEN THA %$$| 888E 888E 88888 888E .dN. |$$% WE'RE AT THE SMOKE CLEARZZ %$$| 888E 888E 88888 888E~8888 |$$% NEXT LEVEL THE SUCKAZZ N %$$| 888E 888E 88888 888E '888& |$$% SO HERES THA FEARZ OF DA 2 %$$| 888E 888E 88888 888E 9888. |$$% TIME 4 YOU 2 TRUE HARDCORE %$$| m888N= 888> 88888 '"888*" 4888" |$$% REVEL IN DIS RAWNESS N SHT %$$| `Y" 888 '**%%%%%%** "" "" |$$% LEETNESS LYK WHICH ONLY WE %$$| J88" ____________________________|$$% IT WUZZ EVEN CAN SERVE YOU %$$| @% |$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$% YA BIZNIZZZZ WITH DA STYLE %$$| :" |$$%.---------------------------' BUT, REALLY, DATS MAKIN DA %$$|____________|$$%| YA JUST CAME 2 WITNEZZ DA ADVANCEMENT IN HOMIES SMILE! %$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$%| A MUTHAFUCKIN TEXTUAL ENTRACEMENT, SUCKA $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ """""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""" From: Tanya Heaps To: hoe@hoe.nu Subject: Your web thing Your web site (http://www.hoe.nu) is really quite bizarre. It's as if five maniacal, ritalin-laden children got together and had a writing orgy that never ended. Well, I like it, but I can't actually read it. That's not an insult, but why do guys put together such sophisticated satire right next to dumb stories about POOP. Maybe I'm missing something? ----- From: DukerDoozie To: hoe@hoe.nu Subject: wow you guys totally rule. i've been reading hoe off and on since 1995 when somebody uploaded it to my local bbs here in CA. it's cool to see that you guys are still producing text files, even with the web domination of everything. for the life of me, i can't figure out why you even bother, but you know. text is raw. ----- From: Oscar Meyer Wilde III To: mogel@hoe.nu Subject: My final text file God gave me large breasts, so I've got a licence to bitch. Whatever you want to tell me, I probably know already. I'm tired of going to sleep at night and waking up and remembering that I have a sexual identity, and I probably know how to count because that's what we're supposed to have learned. I'd like to unlearn, shift lock!@#$%^&*(), and be a brand new text file writer each and every day. I've got absolutely no problems with the French. People say, like, "hey, the French are pretty snobby"--but I don't see it. I don't have any idea what they're talking about. They make good food, movies, and bizarre phrases that pepper our incestuous minds. I like that. Real art fags use caps lock--structuralist dipshits. The best writers use numbers to communicate. The patterns always change. ----- From: gnn@uxu.org To: Mogel Subject: Gloat The uXu officially congratulates the zine HOE, which belongs to the proud--but last--recognizable generation of full-time, life-time digital writers dedicated to the ingenious American Standard Code for Information Interchange. Greetings from Sweden, The GNN/Underground eXperts United ----- From: Sedative To: hoe@hoe.nu Subject: Greetings from the semi-distant past Howdy. This is Sed, of HOE infamy (aah the fame of being a teenage t-file writer). I came across the HOE webpage today & thought I would send my greetings. It's weird looking at all these stories I wrote years ago. Nowadays I'm struggling to make a living as a "professional" (heh-heh) writer, so it's quite a trip looking at all those things that showed up on my BBS screen way back when. I can't decide if I'm supposed to feel nostalgic and cheery about those old writings of mine, or feel incredibly embarassed. Probably both. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - A Special Message From The Editor HIYA, GANG. Over-whelming would be an under-statement--if for only one moment, everyone in the world would hop online simultaneously and share the incredible joy that I have for each and every one of you. My insatiable LOVE resides over this here computer network. Take a look at your CPU for a minute, you. See it? It's got Mogel's LOVE coursing through it's circuits, guys! I hope that makes you FEEL. You're easily impressed, and HOE E'zine is there for you. We are wonderfully clever. We are incredibly stupid. This is the 1000th issue and I just CAN'T STOP the RIVETING FEELINGS from TRICKLING out of my FINGERS. I would try to stop THE EMOTIONAL BLITZ from SWALLOWING YOU WHOLE but I CAN'T. We are a movement. A bowel. A very profound one. It all comes down to one insurmountable phrase: "I'm Eating Your Fart". Don't bother trying to stifle the giggle. I know it's there. Can you believe I just said fart? I am completely off the hook! Just like the time the teacher said blah blah blah, does it really matter what I type as an anecdote here? You'll read it anyway! Who am I trying to kid? All I really want is congratulations for being the most prolifically insane person in the computer underground. But words are never enough. Gosh, I want to impress you. Man, like a boxer, I can just keep re-assembling words in different sequences, swinging punch after punch, until I finally get a phrase that you guys will really be HIT in the FACE by and THEN I will have SUCCEEDED. AHH HOLY FUCK I'M WITTY. I'M PIERCING YOUR BRAIN WITH ASCII WORDS!!!! CAN YOU POSSIBLY READ ALL 8.6 MEGS OF HOE???? AHAHAHAH THIS IS A 164k ASSAULT ON YOUR SENSES!!!! THIS IS A TEXT OVERLOAD!!! WOOOOO!!! I AM SHITTING DIRECTLY INTO YOUR EYEBALL!!!! Somewhere in this issue appears the result of me ejaculating onto this keyboard. Is that too over the top? I'm here for your enjoyment. I'll do anything for you. When you're alone, think of me. YO DUDES I JUST SMOKED UP A SWEET PHATTY "J" BEFORE WRITING THIS! FUCK!!!! AHAHAHA!! PEOPLE ASK ME "HEY MOGEL, AFTER RUNNING HOE FOR SO LONG, DO YOU EVER HAVE A PROBLEM TELLING THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN WHAT'S GOOD AND WHAT'S COMPLETE CRAP?" AND, YO!! I TELL THEM "HAHA, NO I CAN NOT, AND YOU KNOW WHAT? I HAVE NEVER FELT SO FREE!!!!" SO FUCK THAT!!!! YO AHAHAH WE'RE BLURRIN THE SHIT BETWEEN GENIUS SHIT AND STUPIDITY AND SHIT AHAHAH!!! SHIT FUCK MAN!!! Do you think HOE got here too soon? Was our arrival pre-mature? I've said too much. -Mogel/HOE E-ZINE GRANDE EDITOR SUPERIOR MAKIN' DA BITCHES CRY 'TIL I DIE - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - The Obloid Sphere 192 of 222 By: Trilobyte Replies: 7 To: All Subj: The World of Philosophy i think that philosophy's main purpose is to create a description of the world so that philosophers can talk about it in the way that they want to. they can't explain our world in its own terms, so they have to develop their own world with its own terms. they then use those terms a lot and build up philosophies about their little world, but really, it has very little application in the world in which we live. if they were going to be talking about things that really applied, they would be talking about convenience stores and coffee and how the two connect, and how when you go to a convenience store and buy a cup of coffee, you're having a certain mental and spiritual interaction with the employee... but there i go being all philosophical also. maybe there is no spiritual world. maybe that's just another creation developed to hide the fact that we can't explain our world using its own terms. the world expresses itself using its terms, and we can't understand them. who is it that created this world's terms? it wasn't us. why do the terms exist? why do trees grow the way they do, why is cement of that certain consistency? someone can provide answers to these questions, but they will involve atoms and mathematical equations. oh, so mathematics is the language of nature. mathematics are our representation of the terminology of this world. then let's develop pictures for the plus signs, images for the symbols. stories for the problems. oh wait, they've done that too. that's how they taught math to us in grade school, that's how they taught us to apply math to the real world. and since math is the language of the real world, the connection shouldn't have been that hard to make. it's too bad i understand language better than math. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - DRIVEN by AnonGirl Jake Trent lived in Cleveland, Ohio, and liked to drive his car. He didn't have a fancy car with a thousand functions, just a plain old car. One day, after a long day at the office, Jake got into his car and drove home. His eyes were burning from the fluorescent lights. Before he got home, though, he had to run a few errands. The first errand was to stop off at the Drive-Thru ATM, so that he could get some cash for the rest of his errands. He liked the convenience of not having to get out of his car and still be able to get money from the bank. It was comforting to him. For the second errand, he had to go to the Drive-Thru post office, to mail a package to his friend Marcy, in Oregon. He liked the fact that he didn't have to wait in line while reading Most Wanted posters amongst hostile citizens, who were also waiting in line. It gave him peace of mind. The next errand was to stop at the Drive-Thru liquor commission, to pick up some alcohol for the office Christmas party. He bought wine, vodka, and tequila. He liked the idea of not having to go into the liquor store at this time of year, because of the crowds and robberies. He felt safer using the Drive- Thru. Wouldn't you? Jake remembered the night before, and how a burglar tried to break into his house. Since he didn't have an alarm system, he decided that it would be best to purchase a gun, to protect himself. He made a quick stop at the Drive-Thru Gun and Ammunition store, and picked up a 99 STO Autococker, along with some ammo, for a reasonable price. He knew no burglar would mess with him, now. After his trip to the gun shop, Jake was famished. He stopped at the Drive-Thru McDonald's, and ordered a number two, which was a Quarter Pounder with cheese, fries, and a drink. He noticed that they were selling Teenie Beanie Babies, and asked for a Nip the Cat. The girl said, "I'm sorry, sir, but we're all out of Nip the Cat. Would you like Seymour the Seal, instead?" However, Jake didn't want Seymour the Seal. He politely declined the nice lady's offer, and went on his way. He felt like living on the edge tonight, so when he was through with his Sprite, he knocked back almost the entire bottle of vodka. He thought it'd be fun! On the way home, Jake was driving through the 'hood, and decided that now was a great time to try out his new weapon. He saw a group of chillin' homeboys standing on the corner, and opened fire on the bunch, killing each homey. He'd never been involved in any Drive-Bys before, only Drive-Thrus. He kind of liked it; it made him feel new and different. Soon after, he was stopped by the police, who drove him down Death Road, to the local penitentiary. He was sentenced to death, where he would awaiting execution on Death Row. His last request was to obtain his lethal injection via Drive-Thru. His request was denied, so he settled for an ice cream cone and a cigarette. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - From: Blue Daemon To: hoe@hoe.nu Subject: learnin the internet hehehe i like the one about the fucked girl cos its so true l8r - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - Your Call Is Not Important To Me! (A Response to HOE #975!) by Clyde each morning when i get in to work at the b.a.c. corporation, there are already hundreds of callers waiting to talk to me! i don't even put my telephone headset on for about twenty minutes, because i have to drink my coffee! if i don't drink my coffee, i will bite people's heads off! the other suckers who decided to show up for work on time this morning can deal with the work load, while i deal with the more important subject of drinking coffee! when i take the first call, all they can say to me is how long they've been waiting, and how irritated they are with our service! if i walked out the door without breakfast on that morning, as i've been doing for months, i usually hang up at that time! then the next caller says the same thing! by about the ninth call, i get the same guy i hung up on in the first call! and this time he is steaming pissed! i can just feel the steam coming through the phone! and i'm sweating like hell! how come my company doesn't hire someone to keep my coffee mug full! need more coffee! n e e d m o r e c o f f e e ! ! ! ! ! ! so it's the tenth caller! by this time, my genitals are getting a bit soggy! they are reminding me what kind of stress i am dealing with and how badly i need to relieve myself of all this coffee i am drinking! and the customers are still pissed off! "four ninety five to answer my calls faster! you sons of bitches!" what can i tell them! i have programmed to tell them nothing but our standard answer block, which is, "sir/ma'am, the priority call answering service is a way for you to get your needs addressed in a more timely fashion! due to the high demand for our products and services, our phone center employees typically handle up to ninety calls per day! we can bill your visa, mastercard, or american express card! what is the number on your credit card!" i wrote that! we get a bonus for each priority call answering service we sell! but really! have these fucking customers looked at our catalog recently! the women in the ads are the same women we used six years ago! and frankly, these women haven't aged so well! once our dot-com web play takes off, these old ladies are out the door! i'm going to show my boss how to recruit hot-shit models over the internet! n e e d m o r e c o f f e e ! ! ! ! ! ! ok, this is caller number forty! a true milestone! this asshole wants saturday delivery! "sorry sir, but that shipping option is only available on our web site, unless you are subscribed to our priority call answering service! we can bill your visa, mastercard, or american express card! what is the number on your credit card please!" he hung up! i take my headset off, and run to the bathroom down the hall! after pissing, i towel off my genitals with some paper towels! i also stuff a bunch of tissues in my back pockets! believe it or not, this makes sitting down for a long time much more comfortable! next caller! hey, this will be caller number fifty-five! i think it will be my last one for today! screw quotas, i'm going to a movie tonight so i have to leave early! "yes, ma'am, we are an internet company! just open your web browser and type in double-you double-you double-you dot ..." "are you going public soon?" "huh!" "are you going public? i want to buy stock in an internet company! when are you going public? er, can i talk to your PEE ARE person, or someone in INVESTOR RELATIONS?" "how can i help you!" "listen baby, ALL I WANT IS TO STRIKE IT RICH ON THE INTERNET. i DONT WANT your FUCKING products! the ONLY GOD-DAMN REASON i sat on hold for so long is to find out about INVESTING in your company! listen! i have been investing for just TWO MONTHS and i HAVE to find the HOTTEST new trend in the industry! i want to invest in a company that will FLY OFF THE CHARTS and put NETSCAPE to shame! i just opened my E*TRADE account and i want to BEAT THE STREET! beat the street, baby! that's what it's all about! but listen, you little snot-nosed [INAUDIBLE], i'm done talking to you, i just want to talk to your INVE..." n e e d m o r e c o f f e e ! ! ! ! ! ! ! "ma'am! this company is six years old! we sell some of the most boring stuff on the planet! our average customer hold time is in the 20-minute range! our management is asleep at the wheel! some high school kid did our web site! i only got this job to get out of prison early! our turnover rate is nineteen percent! the average employee age is only twenty three! half our accounting staff is away on maternity leave! and just between us, the other half of them are lesbians! listen! do you think this company could possibly be a successful company in the stock market! i don't care so much about what you want! the thing i do is get money from people who call me! that's it! see, if i transfer you, i haven't made any money on the call! my manager will see this and get pissed! he might fire me too! so can't you find it in your heart to just buy a..." "i'm gonna be rich! i'm gonna be rich!" "listen ma'am! have you heard about our new product line launched this week! it is an attractive set of..." "investor relations department, please! i'm gonna be rich!" "...and for as little as twelve dollars extra, you can upgrade to overnight shipping!" "transfer me please! investor relations!" [woman starts pressing buttons on her phone] "sorry, ma'am, but only members of our priority call answering service may speak with our investor relations department! i can bill your visa, mastercard, or american express card! what is the number on your credit card please!" - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - The Pubic Hair Shaving FAQ Maintained by Styx v0.5 - January 09, 2000 FAQ questions a. Why would anybody shave their pubic hair? b. Should I shave my pubic hair? c. What should I know before shaving my pubic hair? d. Is it true that my cock and balls will itch after I shave them? e. Is it true that shaving my pubic hair will make my penis look bigger? f. Anything else? ************************************************************************** a. Why would anybody shave their pubic hair? Good question, and it beats the fuck out of me. Some guys claim that shaving them adds sensitivity to the genital area, especially during sexual intercourse or walking down the street. While this may be true, you will find that this is most often said by guys who are TOO CHICKENSHIT TO SHAVE THEIR DICK. What they are NOT TELLING YOU is that the added sensitivity is actually due to the BLEEDING AND BURNING YOU EXPERIENCE AFTER DOING SUCH A RIDICULOUS THING. b. Should I shave my pubic hair? ONLY IF YOU ENJOY WAKING UP AND WISHING YOU WERE DEAD EVERY MORNING. c. What should I know before shaving my pubic hair? First and foremost - there is NO graceful way to go about it. You will hurt yourself and your loved ones. You will bleed. Your hands will shake. You'll be in pain. Read dick shaving tips all you want by the experts. They're full of shit because they have web sites. I have a web site, too, but there is no content and I've no reason to lie to any of you. Secondly, if you're going to do it, ASK YOUR GIRLFRIEND IF SHE'D MIND BEFOREHAND. This is KEY. d. Is it true that my cock and balls will itch after I shave them? YES. e. Is it true that shaving my pubic hair will make my penis look bigger? Actually, yes. But that doesn't make up for the AGONY AND TERROR. f. Anything else? Yes. You will get pimples all over the place and you won't be able to stop scratching them, embarassing you and your friends in the process. Carry around a bottle of baby powder and pray that it will end soon. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - You are now trapped in Aethelwulf's Utopia WWIV BBS Voting Menu! [Voting]: V QUESTION #44: "What's your problem, asshole?" - Hey, I don't appreciate being called asshole on this BBS. PHANTOM #294 - FUCK YOU ERISE #14 HROTHGAR #368 KHELDAR #264 - I was born without a heart. THE MARTYR _TO_ AETHELWULF #308 - I love teddy bears!! SPIRIT: THE ALLIES #5 - My problem is that I still can't get ANSI to work in Windows. - Then don't use HyperTerminal, duh. QUAREX #1 - Zmodem is my friend! Zmodem makes me do weird things. DISPOSABLE HERO #57 - Cozumel, my homeland! Return me to your glory! GHORT #3 - 18 AND LIFE to GOoOOOoooOoOO! ELROND #6 MURMUR SIBELIUS #313 - Scott Jacobs CAPTAIN RAT #423 CRANK #354 SWISS POPE #20 - Red Glowing DR. ONE #426 NAME IN TURMOIL, CALL LATER #314 SATAN'S FAVORITE SON MEMEME!!! #68 SCARY EVIL WITCHBOY #470 - She Blinded me with Science. HATE-BALL #430 OGRE DE LATOYA: FAKE ACCOUNT #2 QUESTION #45: "What would you do if you were President?" - Raise military spending - Raise NASA funding PHANTOM #294 - Get the Beavis & Butthead movie put on permanent hiatus - Hire Mr. T as a bodyguard to bring him out of his depression KHELDAR #264 SPIRIT: THE ALLIES #5 VANIR #150 - Dress all in black and conduct rituals in the oval office CAPTAIN RAT #423 CRANK #354 ERISE #14 HROTHGAR #368 SATAN'S FAVORITE SON MEMEME!!! #68 SCARY EVIL WITCHBOY #470 - Re-enact "ID4" with Puppets DR. ONE #426 HATE-BALL #430 THE MARTYR _TO_ AETHELWULF #308 - Become a Boy Scout Leader - Play Quake all day, fuck the country GHORT #3 - Fuck the country THEN play Quake all day. DISPOSABLE HERO #57 NAME IN TURMOIL, CALL LATER #314 - Force MTV2 to be shown in PLACE of MTV on Telecable. HITCHCOCK #326 OGRE DE LATOYA: FAKE ACCOUNT #2 - You want babes? Take a look around you! SWISS POPE #20 - I am not an atomic playboy. ELROND #6 - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - LUKE RIDES WITH THE WIND by Kreid Yeah, I rode that motorcycle. It was my soul, that bike was. I lived for that motorcycle, and the feeling it gave me as the desert wind blew threw my hair. I was a motorcycle enthusiast... a BIKER. I rode with the wind! Name's Luke, by the way. Luke Cool. That's my name, yeah, that's what they call me. Know why? Because I keep it cool. Always cool, with the wind in my hair and the road under my wheels, and my ass-lips gripping the sides of that sweat-slicked motorcycle seat. I was a rider, a rider with no pants and no fear in this world. Yeah, I rumbled a few times. I rode with gangs. I kicked some ass, but that's not me. I'm Luke Cool, I keep it cool. That's why they call me Luke Cool. But, my friend, I can tell you no more about the ways of Luke Cool. The wind is calling, and I must ride, ride away. Ride on... ride with the wind... ride. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - Aren't you FEELIN' it? Why so sad and blue? Why's it so hard? Why do you feel so inadequate? HOE E'Zine wants to know what's a-goin' on in that silly ol' noggin! From: Vien Luong To: hoe@hoe.nu Subject: HOE I'm not one of you. I tried to write for HOE once. I wrote Something Stupid. Yes, I'm "iNSaNe_GuRL", you may remember me. Sometimes when I'm bored I read all the HOE files. Sometimes I just sit and laugh and laugh, 'cause i find it all just that little bit amusing. Most of the times I'm intimidated by the "in-jokes" and esotericisms that seem to, you know, characterize some files around here. Sometimes I read and think "Gee, is this good? Or is it just me?" 'Cause not everything on here can be like genius stuff, can it? I think even the stupid files have some kind of hidden smartness. I've told people that before. Anyway, I don't fit in here. And I read your stuff all the time, and I think "Gee, these people would hate me 'cause I'm a fake." Coz these people are easily offended types. Coz they have reason to be better than everyone else, and they'll think I'm lame. And I'm one of those people, who go on those huge chat channels on DalNet and have one of those nicks with AlTeRnaTiNG Caps and sometimes I EVEN feel compelled to shorten my words into that annoying kind of net/bimbo/flirting/shallow chatting-language because that's what everyone else does. I feel mediocre. I wish I had a free-flowing, real, tangible, touchable, edible, ooozing, flooding talent... at anything, even if it was something like, uh, I don't know, licking cane toads, or beating myself with a stick. It's not fair. I write and I pretend I'm a tortured genius type, with the world's jaded expectations lying heavy on my shoulders, the whole misconceived notions of success and talent and materialism and conformity and corruption--they all stop me from freedom, from being me, you know. Oh yeah, I'm sure I'd be talented if I weren't so stifled! The truth is I have no talent at all. I read peoples work and wonder where it comes from--if they have to try as hard as i do to write the way they do. I hope they do, because it's hard to compete with talented people. It's even hard to compete with people who think they're talented but are just mediocre like me but who are confident enough to pull it off. There are plenty of those. Anyway, don't think that I'm writing this as some kind of pathetic attempt to enter your world. I wouldn't dream of it (well, maybe a little sometimes). I have nothing more to say. ----- DON'T CRY, DRY YOUR EYE. We can't all be Mogel, lil' Vien! If you're tired of feeling so lowly in the presence of the clearly enlightened HOE staff, you are not alone. DO NOT BE WORRIED. DO NOT GIVE IN TO THOSE FEELINGS OF LAMENESS! You are unique, and you speak! Blink if you understand this. ----- MENTAL C by Bellum Do you see what you do? Do you see how you play games, and the habits in which you encode? We're all great artists, but what do we paint? Do we paint a rhyme, or a fat line of bullshit? Look into yourself, and into your "consciense"-- What do you paint? How do you code things? Do you code everything yourself? Is your mental card-cataloge self-made? Do you accept what you see? How many classes do you divide people into? When you meet someone, do you always search that mental card-cataloge for a class? "Individuality is ignored when identity is asserted." How'd ya like THAT peice of code, fucker? "Or, to put it more charitable, we are all better artists than we realize" -- Nietzsche HOE E'zine Will Make You Clean. Tough Love From Above. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - INTO A DARK WOOD by Oregano Hansel and Gretel walked into the dark woods looking to have an adventure. Now we know that we should not go off alone and Hansel and Gretel knew better than that, they could get lost and they could get attacked by a bear or a wolf, but they went anyway and you'll see why that was a bad idea. At least they had some sense, at least they were paying a little attention and not just spaced out on video games and loud music. Can't they turn down their stereos while I am talking to them? Why don't you kids listen? I have lived far longer through this life and I know what I am talking about, I don't just talk to hear myself talk, I tell you what I know so you don't have to go through the same crap I went through. Anyway, Hansel and Gretel knew that it was easy to get lost in the woods, they at least listened to that part, they thought they were so freaking smart. "Don't go into the woods, it is too dangerous," I tell them. And they answer, "Why? What is so dangerous?" and I tell them how they can get lost and turned around and never find their way home and in a weakened state from sleeping out in the rain and cold a coyote will jump on their back and sink its fang into their neck till they bleed ferociously and once they give up the struggle the coyote will eat their arms and legs and probably eat into their belly all while they are still alive and unable to scream. So the kids figured, "We'll take along some bread crumbs and that will mark where we have been and then we can find our way back and we won't get lost and oregano is an idiot since his scare tactics have a simple solution. We won't get tired, thus we can fight off a coyote as long as we don't get worn down by rain and cold. And we won't because we are so clever with these bread crumbs." And they went off into the woods. Now had they asked me about their bread crumb plan I would have said, "you dumb flubs, birds like to eat bread, what were you thinking?" They'd have a smart aleck answer and then think of something else just as stupid but I could have wore them down and they'd have seen how stupid they were and then they would have listened to my first advice which is stay the freak out of the freaking forest! Just because I don't tell you all the dangers does not mean that there are none. I know--so listen to me. Hansel and Gretel went out in the woods to explore. They dropped bread crumbs to mark their path home and they had a delightful time mincing and prancing in the woods, all smug and sure of themselves. They got a fair way into the forest and they saw a house in the middle of the trees. Now for a normal person reason applies and we know that if someone wants to live alone in the middle of a forest, far from neighbors or grocery shopping, then they are wacko and dangerously unstable. But Hansel and Gretel did not think. They didn't even pay attention to my talk about not speaking with strangers. They'd probably say, "well you always talk to the women ahead of you in line in the supermarket. They are strangers." Stupid kids always with the smart remark, I try to tell them how that is different since I am looking for poontang. But they don't listen to words, and they don't even listen to actions, they see grownups talking to strangers and they think all grownups are approachable. So they went up to the house and knocked on the door. The thing with kids is that they won't take the jug of V8 juice to Mrs. Morley since she has a strange rasp to her voice which frightens the children. The same Mrs. Morley who lets them sled on her back lawn after it snows, the same Mrs. Morley who never forgets their birthday, the same Mrs Morley whose son died 20 years ago and still loves to be around kids, still needs to hear their laughter. The kids won't go to her house, even to deliver some juice when she is ill, to talk to a woman who just wants to remember, but they will knock on the door of a strange coot way out in the forest. Hansel and Gretel knocked and the door opened to reveal a woman I would later be able to identify as crazed. But she had a strange laugh that the kids took for delight. She laughed while she forced a smile after giving a momentary weary look of scorn. But kids don't pick up on the fact that the first expression is the real one, it gets covered up by the false one. They thought they found a friend. I'll call her a witch, the police called her a confused old lady. I doubt she dabbled in spells, but close enough. The witch welcomed the children inside and offered them something to eat. The kids being hungry from a long walk wandering the woods ate up. They know to be wary of food from strangers, that I have to inspect their candy at halloween, for example, and yet they ate up the food at the crazy witch's house. The witch fired up the oven. The kids did finally have a warning light go off on their proverbial dash board. Why is she lighting the oven? "Maybe you can take a look inside," the witch asked to Hansel and when he looked in the oven the witch kicked him in the butt and closed the door, ready to cook him up. Thank goodness the two kids had a little assertiveness training and Gretel opened the oven and the two children, together, with their tricky little minds, shoved the witch into the oven and wedged the door shut with a broom stick. This is at least what the kids told us, and the police, for all we know they just snapped and went out into the woods and killed a helpless old lady. But that seems unlikely, the kids are not quite that smart. And this woman's house really smelled. Not just the charred flesh, but it smelled, eww, just bad. And in her photos I could see that crazy look in her eyes. Hansel and Gretel got out of the house and found that there were no bread crumbs left. And now they remembered the bad things I warned them about and they froze in panic and stood near the house trying to figure out how to get out of there. Gretel told Hansel about a TV show she watched where moss grows on the north side of trees and that they could use that info to go north. Now here is the thing about TV...it lies! Moss does not grow on just one part of a tree, it grows where ever the freak it can, but kids believe what they see on Matlock, or whatever stupid shows they watch. At least it got the kids moving and they found their way out of the forest before dark and I had to go pick them up a few miles southwest of our house and after they babbled enough about a crazy woman, and they convinced me something was up in the woods, I called the police and we all went out and found the house and the dead witch and boy did the trouble start then. So anyway, I want to tell you that story tonight so you know that you gotta pay attention to what I say, don't go off on half knowledge and when I say to stay out of the woods, you gotta trust me to know what is best for you. Okay, sleep well. And have nice dreams. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - MIDNIGHT CONVERSATION IN ELECTRIC by Mutter IF YOU'RE LOVED, THAT'S GREAT. IF YOU'RE HATED, THAT'S JUST AS GOOD. It's when people are indifferent to you that you have a problem!! Are you mocking me? In what sense? In dollars and sense Strom Thurmond thinks so. EVERY DAY HAS A DIFFERENT SMELL. It's when every day smells the same that you have a problem!! You're getting stupid--claiming "nobody" saw that movie. Fuck you. Nobody was me, and that movie was my life. Where did the 8 million in revenue come from? Cuba Fuckin' Commie! Nicaragua, actually Uhhh, Leftist pinko? I have a problem. I had a dream last night. You were in it. I was in an empty house with you and some kid I didn't know. OKAY, HERE GOES! You said you had to go to work for two hours but would be back in time for the party. When you left, I asked the kid where he lived. He said "Florida". I told him I wasn't driving to "Florida". He told me then he had TO GO and HE LEFT. I locked my front door after him! I peeked through the window to see a little girl approaching my house! This scared me for some reason, and I tried to find my keys in a bag but when I turned it UPSIDE DOWN all that fell out was LOOSE CHANGE and A BRA. Well, I ate the bra for some reason and I found my keys for some reason and a song began playing outside, and I couldn't! help! but! sing! along! and open the door. As soon as I opened the door I had a gun in my face, "Gimme THE KEYS to the truck!" I gave him the keys, even though I don't own a truck. Then I chased after him with my own guns. Someone was waiting in a car with a shotgun and the three of us had a bizarre gun fight, ending with everyone being shot and still walking around and the kid saying he got the gun from my house. No kidding. You're a satanist, aren't you? Kinda? Yeah, I can tell. Satanists have no creativity. Most extremists lack imagination. I'll prove it. Fill in the blanks: "I like to rub _________ on my __________!" Are you on drugs? That doesn't fit the blanks. Try again. Are you a pervert? I went to a doctor with a case of boredom; he laughed in my face and sent me home. I went to a dealer with a case of boredom; he prescribed a drug to make life fun. OKAY, WELL, the only drug I'm high on is LIFE! (The breakfast cereal! Hehehe!) Fucking addict. Yes, no, I am a pervert. Is this beside the point? You're the one that lacks imagination. For instance: What would you do for a KLONDIKE BAR, you FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT? At least i'm not an addicted pervert. No, I'm a perverted addict. There's a difference. You're very judgmental for a satanist. Kinda? It's easy to be a good driver in the passenger seat. Well, it was nice talking to you. And by "nice" of course I mean "painfully boring." Would you please take my keys out of your vagina? - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - _Dog Humped My Dog & Mine Is Tied_ by Styx The Poconos are a small string of mountains in Mid-to-Eastern Pennsylvania and there are a bunch of little podunk towns smattered around in them and mostly they all suck, but sometimes they don't. The towns usually have minimal security due to there being NOTHING TO ENFORCE. Yesterday I got my hands on the 1999 Annual Security Report of a policeman from one of these villages. It encompasses everything he did as a policeman for the entire year. I guarantee you it is authentic, but I will not give any names for fear that some moustached mullet-head with four teeth will find out I raided his shit and will enact revenge on me by dumping a keg of Coors Light on my cat who I love very much. Bad spelling and the original form remains intact, as always. ---------------------------------------------------------------- SECURITY REPORT 1999 25 Open fire during burn ban 24 Dogs barking 22 Dogs running loose 21 Speeding 13 Illegal dumping 10 Assist to Township Police 10 Running stop sign 9 Cats at dump 8 Kids on bike w/no helmets 6 Tree across road 5 Deer w/rope around its neck 5 Message relay 5 Atv's w/no insurance 5 Tresspassing 5 White dogs running loose 5 Atv's speeding 4 Pair of sheppards running loose 4 Assist to State Police 4 Assist to Game Commission 3 Fast & reckless driving 3 No Power 3 Teenager disputes 3 Assist to ambulance 3 Spinning tires 3 Loud Stereo 3 Suspicious red car in woods on Ute 3 Feeding cats at dump 2 Harassment 2 Shooting 2 Disorderly conduct 2 Light on in trailer 2 Snowmobile w/no insurance 2 Weather report 2 Kids riding in back of pick up 2 Cat in dumpster 2 Lost dog Blue pickup dropped garbage & didn't pick up Terroristic threat Abandoned fawn Gasoline siphoned Lost keys at mailbox Dog on my porch at midnight Skirting pulled out Office building egged Dog humped my dog & mine is tied Low heat light on Brush in my driveway from tree crew Woman on Pawnee feeding cats at dump Kids sledding on Geronimo Items at dump returned to property owner Dog w/no food or shelter Assist to State Constable Assist to Repo man Assist to Sheriff's Dept Fireworks Attempted Breakin Tree across wires Wires across road Wires down Bear under trailer Trailer door open Hill needs cinders theft Domestic dispute Renter running stop sign Warning given Raccoon out in daytime Gas stove wont light Low water pressure Fight at bus stop Spotlighting BB gun damage to my garage Animal in my roof Dead deer on my lot Kids playing at dump station Girls in woods during school Passing school bus Stop sign down Dog held jogger at bay Shots fired at 1:30 a.m. Bell cable down Guy taking pictures of us driving golf cart Two guys dragging a buck Dog attacked me Atv in pavilion White caddy on property Cut phone line Pulled knife on me Vandalism at phone booth Dead deer in road Fight at bus stop Skunk out in daytime Kids cutting through my property No toilet paper Kids locked men room & went out window Snow pushed in road Car stuck on hill 15 min after it started snowing Golf cart at 1 a.m. Rottie attacked me while walking Car slid off hill Newspaper people taking salt Kid on mini bike w/no helmet - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - PICTURE THIS by Caitlin Picture this, a familiar scene in #ezines on EFnet once upon a time... you've got your typical asshole criticizing the new comers about their angsty teen rants, a few lazy fat-asses talking about their favorite book by Vonnegut, or their favorite pop song, and then there's a few pseudo-intellectuals discussing philosophy or politics. Of course, you can't forget the few unwittingly ignorant people that frequent the channel as well. They're talking about their breasts, or clothing, or maybe their GED test, or drugs. BIGGIE BIGGIE BIGGIE CAN'T YOU SEE? "Flowering like a.... flower... with children's tear drops poisoning the leaves, salt infiltrating the dirt like it was running away from the IRS," she read aloud in class. Silence from the students. "Picture this," she began, "There's a girl on the corner of Michigan Avenue selling flowers for mothers day for five dollars extra, and we're going to go to the grocery store to buy the $1.99 bouquet on the way home from school so we can give them to our mothers in a rush, and a quick kiss on the cheek." Silence. Okay, picture this: there's a girl in my choir class that makes me want to cut my face off. Beyond the boundaries of cliques and fascist fingernails tapping on the books they don't open, she is definitively annoying. Need more to work with? "LIKE, OH MY GOD, YOU TOTALLY HAVE NO MAKEUP ON TODAY!@#@#$!?!@!" Hahahaha, she almost cried. Detour--picture this: caring about someone so incredibly, you would work ten times harder then usual just to make a future with them possible. Once upon a time, there was a girl who could get perfect grades if she had the motivation. Then after love's arrival, she strikes a 4.0, with a recommendation into advanced placement courses. Last year she was sweeping hallways for grades. Who are we talking about? TH-TH-THIS DANCE IS MINE Pictures aren't enough to keep her going, you know. Skipping class, even for the doctor is discouraging. HAHAH I GET LOTS OF DATES BECAUSE MY TITTIES ARE REALLY BIG!!!! hah Buddhism of course takes its roots in Hindu, from India. the ancient Hindi texts pre-date anywhere from 1500 B.C. or earlier--they were the old teachings, called "vedas". a lot of this vedic scripture was based on the culture, and there's many Hindu stereotypes. I'm obviously not very concerned with Hindu, although it's important to bring up since not only does Buddhism take its roots there, but it is still a present religion in the world and has some interesting philosophical ideas of its own. I just read The Dharma Bums. I hate Buddhism from now on, okay? I got drunk with a cute boy. I am so fat, yo. I like to eat. I also like Marilyn Manson and Korn. Sometimes I listen to FATboy Slim. hahahaha, THIS IS BECAUSE I AM FAT!!! Whoa, I am fat, too. I eat, too! I hate pokemon! I hate lots of stuff. Oh, yeah, I like food. I have a cat! Her name is Anna! She drools!! I like beer. My girlfriend is hot, hahhahaha, fuck you all! HAHAHAHA QUINN THE ESKIMO!! HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA FUCKING SHIT (subtext: I am in love. I am better then you all, hahahaha.) haha, yer cute, hahaha. Why aren't you here? Well, you know, "Buddha" comes from an ancient language of writing called "Sanskrit". Reference is made to this, of course, because it's a language that doesn't exist anymore, but many Buddhist texts are originally written in. Buddha, which originally comes from the word "Budji" (meaning "Perfected mind"), was a term to come after Sidhartha died, however, in a sense. Anyway, I'll be referring to Sidhartha as "Buddha" every now and then, but it's important to note that the word is also qualitative, as something can be "Buddhist"--and it was furthermore made clear that the "Buddha nature" existed within everyone. shut up i am better then you all fucking drugs.. legalize it alllllll... i hate laundry! you all think i am stupid, but i'm really a smart person. see.. i have this problem where i graduated stupid, i appear stupid, but i'm really not stupid. see.. I have a cat... she's not stupid either. i went to the store yesterday, and all the guys were staring at my titties. hah YOU FUCKING JERSEY TRASH - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - How to Bring About a Socialist Revolution by Slacking Off! by Uberfizzgig For the most part, when we're kids and growing up, we live with our parents. They pay for everything we need to survive and have fun. Then, after we graduate from High School or College, we go out and get any job we can and start complaining about it. Well, we should just stop doing that. Not complaining, but stop taking a job that really isn't the best that can possibly be. All kids, when they grow up and are about to move out and get a job, should just hold off on that until they find one that offers total benefits, 6 weeks paid vacation, and democratic control of the company itself by its employees. If the next generation of young educated laborers did this, companies would soon be faced with a drastic labor shortage. They would have to begin offering greater and greater pay and benefits to attract workers. Most companies are not in a position to move overseas, or hire foreign labor, and foreign labor in places where labor is cheap is also not highly educated, so all these people staying at home would be for the most part enhancing jobs that only they are really able to get. If this continued, companies would eventually discover that by offering benefits, pay and working conditions of extraordinary magnitude, they could get these people to leave their homes and come to work. Other companies follow suit and perhaps even offer greater things because of the competition for labor. But in general, we'd end up with a socialist work place out of this. There may be some difficulties with this hypothesis due to my liberal application of demand-side economics. However, a bunch of kids that just slacked off at home and didn't get jobs and wouldn't get jobs until they were the best possible jobs there could possibly be because that what these kids believed they deserved might currently be though of as lazy, arrogant assholes, but in reality they are the impetus of social change and rising standards of living, they are soldiers in the class struggle, the driving engine of history, the spirit of the proletariat! So for the sake of humanity, don't get a job. Don't move out. If you've already got a job, quit and move back in with your parents. I for one already have my bags packed. Just doing my part to save the world. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - I LIKE TO KILL PEOPLE by Kreid Yes indeedy, I like to kill people. There's nothing quite more satisfying to me than watching the life expire from a pleading and innocent pair of human eyes. I AM A TOOL OF GOD'S WRATH. Except love, maybe. Ah, love. That is what we are all searching for in this world, isn't it? I sure think so. Then again, I'm no expert. I've never known love, or at least not the love of another living person. But I would really like to. I'm curious. DEMONS TREMBLE AT MY AWESOME POWER. Is it any reason not to love a person just because that person kills people? I just don't understand people. Maybe that's why I kill them. ANGELS SCREAM OUT MY NAME IN PRAISE. I AM KNOWN ACROSS THE HEAVENS. Speaking of which, I'm almost sure that there's a question on the minds of my readers: why do I kill people? Let me answer that question with a question. Why don't you shut the fuck up, asshole? I AM TEN TIMES MORE FEARED THAN GOD HIMSELF. Fucking asshole. It's not that I have a short temper. I know for a fact that I have a very long temper. People have told me so. Of course, they usually tell me so before I explode with murderous rage. GOD'S BATTERED MOTHER SUCKS MY DICK EVERY NIGHT AND SWALLOWS MY CUM. Now ask yourself a question, asshole. I'm curious. What's worse, jail or death? My guess is that you're a slender little piece of ass. Would you rather have that ass fucked (somewhat) continuously for a period determined by the state, or would you rather just have your life taken away from you? Either way, your suffering is the result of a man doing what he loves to do. It seems to me that the most dangerous people out there are those who still rely on simple pleasures. SPEAKING OF DICKS: I'VE GOT A HUGE PECKER. When I was a kid, it was okay to rely on simple pleasures. But then, my arms got bigger, my eyes got bigger, my appetite got bigger, et cetera. Now I kill people. C'est la vie! HA HA HA HA HA. MOTHERFUCKER. To be honest at last, I know that I am inferior in almost every way to almost everyone I murder. But then, they're all dead! Hah. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - LETTERS TO SANTA Taken From Bloomingon-Normal's "Twin City Community News" Holiday Supplement Transcribed by Quarex Things like these children's letters to Santa are far funnier than almost anything most people could come up with. So, in conclusion, eat shit. Dear Santa, I really want something special. I want another baby brother. I want a cat. I want a dog. I want a fish. I like all of these. Love, Brooke H., Grade 2 Dear Santa, There are many things I want for Christmas. First, I want a remote control car. Next, I want a water and food bowl. Then, I want a Pokemon sleeping bag. Last, I want some new golbery shoes, six 4. Love, Anthony, Grade 2 Dear Santa, Can you pleas give me a truck thet two people can sit in? Can you give me an E-Z bake oven? Thank you Santa. have a nice Christmas. Your Friend, Amoda Lacour, age 7 Dear Santa, I have been a good girl. I hope. I have always' have been whining about this dog that when you pull the sock it grows and his name is Tiger. I have been whining about those Scoobeydoo slippers and the are verey comfey to my feet. I want my own butterfly lamp. I want some new sheets for my bed and they better be scoobydoo. Thank you Santa, Megan Fallot, age 8 Dear Santa, I have been a good girl. What I want the most for Christmas is a little computer. I will with it a lot. I want the one with a mouse and a C.D. It looks fun and playful. It has a math game on it. I love math. It has a reading game on it. Thank you Santa. Love, Kristina Mlincsek, age 7 Dear Santy, I will give you 8 carrots, and a glass of milk, and cookies! This is what I want. Hocky equipemt and Pokemon cards! Can you get my brothers a presant and my brothers a presant and my baby? I Love you Santy! Your pal, Kevin Rudolph, age 8 Dear Santa, I was s a good boy. I tried not ot get in a fight with my sister and lets get down to business. I would like a beast wars togs. I want chetor and you probably know I want the rest of the maximal and transmedal pradecon. From, Joe Wemlinger, age 8 Dear Santa, I tried to be a good boy. I want a tv. It would be the best and that was one fo my wishes. That is the thing I want for Christmas and that is what I want for Christmas. Your friend Culler Kennel, age 7 Dear Santa, I have tried to be a boy this year I hope I deserve this. I want a lavalamp, Nintndo 64 games for game boy, and hot wheels Items. Thankyou for buying some of these gifts for me. Siserly, Tanner Frey Dear Santa, My name is Thomas. I'm 7 years old. My favorite thing is $1,000,000,000,000 or a toy. Your friend, Thomas, Grade 2 Dear Santa, I want many presents for Christmas. I want a Nintendo 64. I want a skateboard. I want roller blades and a Gameboy Color. I want a remote control motorcycle. I want my brother to heal. I want him to play again. I want him to walk again. I want his shoulder to heal. Love, Matthew, Grade 2 Dear Santa, For Christmas I would like a X-Blade roller Blades, and biggest, coolest remote control car. I want the coolest dirt bike ever and a X-Blade snowboard. I wish my dad came back. I like Christmas. Love Douglas, Grade 2 - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - A LAMENT ON THE FAILURE OF PHREAKING by Uberfizzgig Back in the day, back before I even knew what a modem was, there were hackers. And these hackers would often get long distance calls for free. In fact, getting free calls was a big important part of hacking because calling all over could get quite expensive. Now, however, there's stuff like dialpad.com which lets you call phones with your computer over the internet, and that means free long distance. So now one of the original skills any 31337 hax0r could not be without, has now been co-opted by the corporation. Free calls is not a part of it anymore. Perhaps this is the accomplishment of a goal within the whole enterprise, a fulfillment of the undertaking, or perhaps it is the washed-out main-streaming of the underground. In truth, however, I have no idea what I'm talking about. I wasn't there. But one thing's for sure, I've got a new long distance carrier. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - _The Drizzt Trilogy; An Introduction_ by Styx This is going to be weird to explain. Here we go. If you're already familiar with AD&D, particularly Forgotten Realms, feel free to skip this introduction/explanation. Drizzt Do'Urden is a character in the AD&D Forgotten Realms multiverse and has several different novels based on his story. He is what is known as a Drow Elf, which basically means that he has dark skin and lives underground. I hate him for two very specific reasons; 1) His character is invincible. He never dies. He's boring. It's the time-tested formula of bad-guy-turned-good-guy, who fights for what's right, but still has a dark side that he continually has to battle with, etc, etc. Boring as hell. And he just never dies. Sometimes his death is teased, but he always manages to crawl out of the rubble and annoy me more. 2) Even more importantly, the guy who messed up my very first relationship with a girl went by the nickname "Drizzt Do'Urden" online, which made me hate the character all that much more. I no longer do. I'm pretty indifferent. I wrote the following trilogy over a span of a few months back in the winter of 1997/1998. I hadn't intended on using the Poetboy Chronicles formula that you can find in the I Bleed For This? e'zine. It just happened that way, and it was pretty effective for me. Just clearing my ass while I have the chance. If you don't know much about AD&D, some of this stuff will definitely go over your head. Likewise with The Care Bears, Winnie the Pooh, and the Teletubbies, all of which fuck Drizzt Do'Urden up pretty bad. So here we go. NOTE: I posted these on the AD&D newsgroup once. They wanted to lynch me but I made my saving throw and now they still suck. ----------------------------------------------------------------- _The Drizzt Trilogy; Part 1 - Drizzt vs. the Care Bears_ One day, Drizzt was lazing by the side of a creek, mentally masturbating over how cool he was and counting his artifacts, when the Care Bears came along and gang raped him. HappyBear took control of his tight elven rectum while LoveBear filled Drizzt's mouth with his hard, fuzzy LoveMeat +3 +5 vs. boring characters that never smile. JoyBear made a new hole in Drizzt's cranium with a big rock and took advantage of the orifice with reckless abandon. GleeBear had a very small appendage and was able to slide easily into Drizzt's urethra, and SappyBear did very odd things to the drow's nostrils. When the Care Bears were finished and satisfied, they gang raped him again. Then they drowned him in the creek. Then they shot him. Then they gang raped him and shot him again, and then they drowned him. Then they shot him and pissed on his head and drowned him some more. When they were done, they shot him again and drowned him. Then they shit all over him, took pictures, and sent the images to webmaster@aol.com. Then they shot him a little more. The end. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - From: Jarett Kobek To: Carlin Reed Cc: Darwin's Friend List Subject: Re: How do I talk to a girl? I am twelve. > I would HEARTILY disagree with that. I vote for going over in person, > even though it takes more huevos. If she digs you in the first place, > this is a good thing to show her that you are interested enough to > follow through on this... If she looks at you kind of funny for > 'tracking her down' to her new location... then fuck it, cause it > weren't goin' nowhere nohow. Hi Carlin. I have to also HEARTILY disagree, but this time with you!!@! I believe that if she gives Darwin the 'tracked me down to East Britania' look, he needs to KEEP pursuing her. Yes, he needs to pursue her until he can manage to get her into a situation with that ol' key to interpersonal relationships: ____ | ---- | ---- (ALCOHOL!!!) ---- \\ | | \\ (.)=(.) \\ \0/ --- "GIMME SUM LOVE, STUD!" \\ | | --- --- (.) (.) \ \ / \\ \/ \\ ( ) [] / \ / \ / \ (DRUNK ASS SLUT. NOTICE BEER GOGGLES.) Yes, you see, 98% of all interpersonal and sexual relationships start, for adults, with the help of their old friend alcohol. It's like an instant aphrodisiac! Something happens once you get out of high school, something strange and silly, and your ability to randomly hookup with people without fear of social opprobrium falls away. You've got to be drunk now, in the real world. And if you don't, the person you're trying to score does. In fact, their sexual drives only turn on when the booze is free flowing. Yes, Carlin, there is a Santa Claus, but he changed his name to Jim Bean or Jack Daniels, and on weekends he moonlights as the good space pirate Captain Morgan. He doesn't live in the North Pole anymore, no, now he lives in the black mining hills of easy sipping Tennessee. Seek electricity. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - I Thoroughly Enjoy Limp Bizkit's First Album A Review by RottenZ Let's call a spade a spade; I thoroughly enjoy Limp Bizkit's first album, "Three Dolla Bill Y'all". I'm not embarrassed to admit it, despite what you may think. We've exploded from the post modern age to the post-ironic age, and in its wake, I feel no remorse in sharing this tidbit with you. Oh, sure, it was no classic, by any standards, and there are certainly weak portions, but I believe the "Counterfeit-Stuck" one two punch of tracks 3 and 4 alone are enough to cement it in my "like" category. Why, just today, I was driving down the highway on a sunny, chilly day, listening to Limp Bizkit's first recording, "rocking out", if you will, and I did not feel one bit guilty. It was quite the good time. Significant Other still sucks, though. Enough of that god damned "Nookie". Enough! - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - AN IMPORTANT REMINDER by Mogel Expression is progression. Please remember that. Expression is your ability to interact with a THING and have something HAPPEN. You will find, that it's particularly pleasing when the producer and the produced are the same thing. Being yourself doesn't mean you can't be someone else, too. You are not yourself, you are someone else--you. Get it? Expression is art, entertainment, media, thought, writing, ideas, sounds, images, uniqueness, listing things, self-awareness--living. And if you're not living your life, you're living the life someone else handed you on a plate, smeared with some shit you can't identify and wouldn't want to, even if you could. And why are you doing that? Does it make you feel you have power? Does it make you forget how empty your life can be? Does it give you a BONER? What do those things really mean? Sorry to be so off-base and confusing. Can we pretend sincerity is "OK" if it's self-aware? I'm talkin' about bein' real, of course. I'm talkin' beyond the hedonistic urge of "WOW!". Toutin' that "it's just entertainment!" ethos, where tasteless sucksters pretend that thought pulls the punch--but real punches do damage, no matter *how* you look at them. I'm talkin' beyond the pretentious, the art fags--sittin' in their delusionary "cool lunch table", jerking off to a fancy camera angle. I'm definitely talkin' way beyond the people that hide behind "cultural relativism" as a means to justify something fully intended to give Rico Suave a throbing erection. What I'm suggesting is this: it's good to think about it. Here it is, real simple: men with money make the media. They demographically study you. They decide what everyone likes in common. Those things are simple things (I LIKE DA BOOM BOOM BOOBIES). They use their accrued money, money that you've flooded them with, and they produce the same time-tested, lowest-common-denominator bullshit over and over again. Why shouldn't they? It works! You've proved it, by throwing your money at them over and over again. They're banking on your bad taste. They are us. We all hear a lot of really shitty things getting praise. In reality, it's because we don't know any better. Chronic crap, Pavlov-style. I am not dissing you because you like crap, I'm dissing you because I expect more. I'm only anti-establishment if the establishment just SUCKS. How many of you jackasses talk about the PeRFeCt SoURCe CoDe--so down on Microsoft, aren't you, but you still cried when you saw Liv Tyler's stunning performance in ARMAGEDDON, didn't you? How many cliches do you NEED? One Man, One Gun, One Mission It Was A Clean Wound, The Poor Bastard Probably Never Saw It Coming The Killer Was A Pretty Scary Killer Isn't It Funny How Tragedy Brings A Family Together? Armed With A Wet T-Shirt, She Ran For Her Life High School Sucked Quite A Bit A Natural Disaster Can Certainly Be A Bad Thing Adorable Child Gets Murdered, Everyone Cries A Number of Bullets Are Being Fired, People Are Dying As A Result Misunderstood And Loving It Pretty People Who Do Zany Things And Shit Blows Up Originality is difficult, but if we keep apathetically embracing crap, we're like autistic retards, talkin' the same bullshit year after year. Is that really what you want to be like? - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - BOGGLE AS A SOCIO-PSYCHOLOGICAL FORCE IN CENTRAL ILLINOIS BECAUSE THERE IS LITTLE ELSE TO DO by Quarex This file warrants a very brief introduction to inundate those of you who are not familiar with the Aethelwulf's Utopia-Bloomington/Normal tradition of making sayings on the boggle board in my basement, which has been missing one single block since time immemorial. Thus, three four-letter words and one three-letter word must be made. MUST. There was no room for variation in this sacred ritual. Well, with a few minor exceptions. Invariably, as you all no doubt know, Boggle boards get knocked over, and then further pieces go missing. On such occasions as yet more pieces were unavailable, leniance was allowed on sayings being spelled out. I would try to list who made each saying next to it, but that would probably end up with somebody being pissed off at me for giving myself credit for a brilliant saying that someone else came up with. I guess I will still try, though. I will list names next to the ones I know for sure. And, moreover, I am a fucking retard. Here it is. A list of all the boggle sayings EVER MADE. Well, at least all the ones we remember. THIS BURN GOTO AINT SHIT HOTH NO D RIP FOR ISCO (Quarex) RIDE (Quarex) SEX (Ghort) IVAN JOE DREW THE AIN'T WILL SAND WRTH DIE KING (Spirit) SHIT SOON ONLY YOU TOY HOES AINT SALE USE NEIL ENDS PINE (Ghort) YUNG (Quarex) SUNE (Ogre) HATE WERD HENS HATE THAT ROAM HATE I AM THE YOU (Quarex) DEAD CITY (Murmur) NUNS BOYS PELE ROAM FOR AINT THE SALE GOT CITY (Quarex) HERE SHIT KURT GIRL LOVE HAS DONT IS A LICE LIKE SHIT DOOD ME RUG (Quarex) FEED PLOW AINT THE HIM NOH MULE LONG LEFT CZAR (Spirit) TIME TURN TRY GIVE TAKE DIET THE TRIG JACK DORK SO I MOVE (Ghort) SALT HATE HEAT OSCI RUN UP A LATE FROM TARD THEN THAT QUICH (QUs single letter!) DIE (We don't spellcheck) TART TEST NOW MAKE YOR WITH DREW PING REAL MORE TIME PAIN (Mogel) GAY (Pixy) ERIK MINE SEAN HAS PEAS PENN TERI BE D IS A TITS SHIT DUCK DREW JAKE MADE LIES CANT IN A TO A SELL SHIT JURY (Ogre) LYE HEAP RAPE BLUD ERIK DAT MAKE IS A OGRE CAT TARD HARD GROW LORD TEEN ST L THIS GAYS OUIS IS A IN D ARCH DUMB HAUS FAGS PLAN YOUZ BRET DREW (Courtney) GOT SMOX LIKE (Who's she?) JAKE MUY BAM (I dunno!) HAIR DOPE QUEER CORT DOOM QUICK NEY FORR SHIT SUCK SIR ON A THIS (Quarex) OGRE VEST MOFO JON RICH SAYS KISS DONT RUIN DEAD LAY HER GUYS SARA (Cap'n Rat) GUNS RAGE NUT MAKE ON O INYA OGRE DETH UNDA DIE MULE WEAR ERIK JONS RETC A UP LAST HING YOUR DAY UP A BUTT (Shadow Tao) EVER LUNG CAN DREW KILL TITO IS A ALL HAVE SELL YOUR SOME OUTT APES ERIK EREC LOVE IS TION IS A LION FEEL QUEER DUNG GUD (Ogre) TURN QUICK COLD THAT THE DARK RAT BOYS HAM EATS DEAD (SwissPope) LEGS (Spirit) SINS (Quarex) MORE GRAP POLY THAN HING NOMI JUST MAD ALS SEX (Glynis) DOTS (Ogre) RULE (Ogre) I bet you are all glad you read those. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - RED EYES by Effy All the doors closed. Five candles burning. Four cones of patchouli incense. Smoke from the pipe. Hey, you know, he couldn't help it because it looked so good. The dealer had a bud the size and shape of a BANANA man, how can you turn down such an herbal heaven? Of course, he didn't get the actually banana bud. That was just $100 he didn't have. How fucking amazing, man. Damn, it's hard to breathe. Stumbling into the bathroom, he squinted painfully as his eyes watered from the smoke. It was like his eyeballs were inflated and burning out the side of his skull. Frantically, he rubbed his eyes, only worsening them with his resinated, smoke-covered fingertips. He clawed at his eyes in agony and fright. He grabbed a cloth, and ran it under some cold water, then slapped it on his face, letting the cool water relieve his burning sockets. He gasped, as his heart beat a thousand times per minute, leaping out of his pulsating chest. Stepping out of the bathroom, his body suddenly jolted sideways and he slammed his shoulder into the wall. Waves of apathetic giggles slipped out the corners of his smiling mouth. Oh, dude!@!! It didn't seem as bad once he sat back down. But it was only a matter of maybe half a minute before he fell to his knees, unable to see as he tried to stumble out of his chair to escape the smokey fumes that had cumulated in the room. How could he have been so stupid? You don't fucking burn all that shit in an enclosed place in a matter of an hour and expect it not to make you blind and make your nose stuffier than a motherfuckin' turkey. Man. If it weren't for this gay smoke, this high would be way cooler. He clawed at the window and forced it open. The cold winter breeze rushed in. His eyes drank in the air hungrily, savoring a sweet recovery. He smoked the rest of his pipe. The shit was fucking amazing. Floral. Fruity. He ate a bagel. It was the greatest fucking bagel he had ever tasted. The room slowly became more bearable after a couple more less intense fiery optical attacks. SWEET. Like CANDY. Your stomach is the voice in your head. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - _The Drizzt Trilogy; Part 2 - Drizzt vs. Winnie the Pooh_ by Styx Drizzt was lazing by the side of the creek, oozing Care Bear semen from every hole in his body, feeling victimized and disoriented, when Winnie the Pooh came traipsing along. "Oh bother," said Pooh, glancing down at his honey pot. "I'm almost out." Then he glanced up from his honey pot (which was almost empty, you know) and saw Drizzt lazing by the side of the creek, oozing Care Bear semen from every hole in his body, feeling victimized and disoriented. "Hello!" exclaimed Pooh. "What's this?" Pooh poked, pushed, and nudged Drizzt with his sticky paw until the drow regained full consciousness. "What is that leaking out of your nostrils, ears, mouth, and anus?" asked Pooh. "The Care Bears raped me," explained Drizzt. "I'm an innocent PC gen-x Bush-listenin' brainwashed TV addict, but I'm an American, so it's alright." "It's not honey, then?" questioned Pooh. "No," Drizzt replied. "The Care Bears raped me and their musky fluids are dripping out of all the holes in my body. They shot me and drowned me a lot, too, but somehow I still live!" "So you've no honey?" Pooh asked. "No," said Drizzt, rubbing his temples. "Just a bunch of Care Bear cum." "You're a god-damned prick," Pooh said, and proceeded to shove his soft, yellow, yet erect penis right into one of Drizzt's gunshot wounds. He pumped furiously, fueled by the frustration that he had no honey left. Drizzt moaned, groaned, protested, and even requested that Pooh use a condom, but Pooh was so engrossed in the task at hand that all he could think about was shooting Drizzt's spleen full of his 100-Acre-Wood seed. "Please," begged Drizzt. "At least put on a condom! I saw it on MTV!" But it was too late. With a final, shuddering sigh, Pooh let loose a blast of AIDS-infected semen straight into Drizzt's digestive system. "Eat my diseased spunk!" rasped Pooh, and began walking away. "Pooh," whined Drizzt. "Pooh, please.. please help me. I hurt so bad. All of my holes are raw and bloody and now I've got AIDS. Not only am I banned from my subterranean home, but I'm going to emaciate into a pathetic excuse of a drow. Imagine what it will do to my reputation! Find Elminster, please. He's in Shadowdale planting a garden! He can help!" Alas, Pooh was already beyond earshot. "Tut tut, it looks like rain," observed Pooh. "I must find a smackeral of honey. I'm terribly hungry!" And Drizzt lay there beside the creek, oozing and choking on his own vomit, taken advantage of by a bear of Very Little Brain, shitting out semen and convulsing. Then he became a god, memorized some spells, and passed out in a pool of his own urine. The end. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - FAT FRANNIE by Kreid fat, fat frannie sat around eating her fries. she liked to eat fries because they made her fatter and also because they covered her face with a layer of delicious grease. "GAAMMM GHAHHAJJAJAJAJAJBJAHL," said fat frannie. "uh-oh," said old man skinnybones. old man skinnybones was fat frannie's husband, best friend, and lover. old man skinnybones loved fat frannie with all his skinny heart, which could be seen beating weakly through his thin, pale, translucent flesh. "uh-oh," said old man skinnybones, "sounds like fat frannie wants some more fries!" old man skinnybones liked to think that he knew what fat frannie's groans meant, since he loved her so much. but the truth was, old man skinnybones couldn't tell a "GAAMMM GHAHHAJJAJAJAJAJBJAHL" from a "PHHHHHHBRBBTHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEFFPF ARF ARF ARF ARF MEOW," which, by the way, meant "i need some more fucking fries right now!" old man skinnybones flipped through some of fat frannie's flesh-folds, searching for his car keys so that he could go get his lover some more fries. he flipped through those flesh-folds just like always, flap flap flap until he smelled shit, then go back one. there, old man skinnybones found his wife's beautiful love cavern honeypot, in which his heart and his car keys remained when he wasn't using them. "your pussy smells so beautiful, my lardy lover," said old man skinnybones. "just spread your thighs a little more if you can so i can get the car keys, okay, lover?" "GAAMMM GHAHHAJJAJAJAJAJBJAHL," replied fat frannie, as she grabbed old man skinnybones by the loose flesh on the back of his bald head and shoved it directly into her soft, stinking cooter. "GAAMMM GHAHHAJJAJAJAJAJBJAHL" was the phrase fat frannie used when she wanted to be pleasured orally. old man skinnybones happily began licking and sucking at his lover's vagina, which became progressively more wet with foul-smelling greasy fluid. when his wife reached orgasm, as always, old man skinnybones's head was crushed inside a 400-pound vice of thigh-meat. when he came to, he had shit himself. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - OH HOLY SHIT IT'S AN INTERVIEW WITH MOGEL by CHRISTOPHER CROWE Crowe: Let's dispense with some questions! Mogel: Interviews should be more interactive. Everything should be more interactive. I wish people had buttons. I don't mean that. Who cares what Ted Koppel really thinks? Crowe: For those who don't know you, give us a general "who you are" kinda run down. Mogel: Well, I don't know who I am. I like to think of myself, ideally, as just some weird guy that sits in the corner and bellows awkward social commentary every few minutes. But, you probably don't mean that. Crowe: I think everyone already knew that much. Mogel: I think that I've been online since 1990. I've been involved in various "online communities" over the years. I'm generally known for being a "text file guy". E-zines, more specifically. Although, "E-zine" is such a vague term, isn't it? There's a whole slew of stuff included in there. I'm generally associated with a community of folks that make up the 1990s version of "text files" and "underground digital zines". I use the word "E-zine" by default, but I'm generally associated with those. I don't know who I am. Who am I? You tell me. Crowe: I'd venture to say that's your niche. You've done quite a bit of work in those areas--although a lot of it seems to be humor, socially-related, and satire. What would you say is your favorite? Mogel: My personal favorite "area" of e-zines? Uhh, Probably the honest stuff. That sounds vague. You know, E'zines have been around since the '80s. They started as these little ASCII text files that were traded around. The original idea was this: Anybody anywhere could write a message and have it, in theory, be spread far and wide. It was a strange sense of new-found power, really. I mean, before the modem, a kid couldn't do that. He'd write something, or say something to his friends. It couldn't be spread in a medium where just some random stranger could download, read it, and, hopefully, say "WOW!" or (even better) "YEAH! ME TOO!". That "me too!" effect, although a common expression used be AOLers on UseNet, is a critical direction to making good text files. And "being honest" doesn't always mean write-in-a-direct-to-the-reader style--it means, addressing things in a manner that's going to actually mean something to them. So, uhm, that's why I love the honesty. There's a certain "trashy" look that e-zines are always going to have. It's not a professional thing, and it rarely pretends to be. That aesthetic is something that TV could have capitalized on, you know, if they weren't so overly-focused on money. E-zines are more about the message. Crowe: How did you come into these things? Mogel: The first e-zines I stumbled upon were the more self-glorified cDc, and the much more trashy BLaH. cDc totally inspired me. Some of the files in there were totally hilarious and brilliant. Of course, a lot of it was total crap, too. This was early 1993 and a lot of your average computer guys were STILL on BBSes, and the mass-move to the internet had not quite happened yet. Regardless, in 1994, I decided to do what 40% of the local-BBS world was doing: "START MY OWN TEXT FILE GROUP". Since then, I've written for quite a few. The most pride probably came from the earliest issues of DTO. Crowe: Deserved or not, you've pretty much regarded as being at the front of the 'zine movement. Probably one of the most well known "zine guys" on the net. In your experience, how has the text file scene evolved? How has the "web" changed it versus the old BBS or even telnet/gopher? Mogel: It's definitely not deserved. In the bigger scheme of text files, I'm definitely still new. I jokingly refer to 3 periods in e-zine history. These terms are only in-jokes with me and my pals, though. There's the "oldschool", which is roughly 1980-1987. This is basically all the original and founding e-zines. Some people would say that everything that has been done with text files was done in those years. This was totally back when BBS-centered e-zines were what was up. The move to the internet slowly happened during the next phase. And, in a way, this was the true "pioneering" days. Things like PHRACK were going to court for publishing stuff. cDc and The Neon Knights were quite popular. The "middle school" is basically all the e-zines that things like cDc inspired. Things like BLaH, FUCK, UXU, IBFT, and so on. There was a HUGE slew of these. Sometime around 1993, when the internet really took off, these was a real down time for this stuff. Some people say that it's never quite recovered. It's kind of silly, because, in theory, the internet provides *more* fuel for the original idea of an e-zine. Don't get me wrong, there has been a resurgence. In 1994, I tend to call that "the new school". It's basically when everyone on the BBS world, like rats from a sinking ship, hopped to the internet. The difference? Well, there's not really a "community" anymore, I think. BBS's were full of groups of kids, wanting to be subversive, and they'd call up and download these funny-ass text files about blowing up mailboxes, or fucking the dead, or whatever. With the internet came a new idea that "ANYONE" could view these files, and it kind of killed the magic for some people. I'm not bitching, though. I mean, to some degree, you have to make community happen. You can't just expect random people to bump into each other. People who just sit around and whine about no community are generally the same types of people who nobody would want to be in a community with anyway. (How's that for a mean generalization?) Crowe: There is a tendency for the new zines to be "angst", "teen angst", or "social commentary". Where do you see this heading? Where do you see the text file scene heading towards in general? Mogel: The angst is typical. DTO had a lot of angst. Basically, uhm, I think "angst" is just an emotion, like any. Emotions are tasty. But you have to swallow, digest, and shit them out. You can't just stick them in your mouth and let them sit there. God, that's a terrible analogy. But what I mean is... if you use angst as a tool to do something cool, that's great. I think it's also common because a lot of young people that would be into e-zines are probably going through "big changes" in life. Youth is generally a time for misdirected anger. Your PAL Y-WiNDoZE wrote a pretty on-point article about this topic that's in HOE #90. As for "The Scene" (where is that, anyway?)--I have no idea. Text files are absurd. I've been half-heartedly trying to flagship a sort of neo-new school e-zine movement (yes, I say that sarcastically) with the resurgence of HOE. I have no idea if it will work or not. Probably not, but it can't hurt to have a little fun and try, ya know? Crowe: If your not having fun, why do it? Mogel: Because you're on a mission from GOD. There *are* e-zines out there, but for most of them I rarely pick up something special out of them. I feel like, if they were gone tomorrow, I wouldn't give a shit. I totally agree, which is eventually why I painfully *forced* DTO to die. You know, now that I think about it, I think entropy will win out. Like, the world would be totally chaotic and pointless. My room is messy--I have to *do something* to make it clean. So, I have low expectations for the scene's future (people have been generally passive), but I'd like it to be a good one, somehow. Don't get me wrong, there's just so much you can care about a group of people who are willing to publish a text file describing the TRUE nature of poop. Crowe: What about other types of Literature, especially net-based stuff. Fiction, Fan Fiction, etc? Other 'zines? Mogel: You know, like, "what the hell is the point of text files? Well, write for the heart. Write crap. Write totally fucking weird shit. There has to be meaning in there *somewhere*." Man, I'm so down on 'realist' fiction right now. I see no point. It's like a completely accurate painting. What function does it serve, other than to impress people with how 'hard' it was to paint? Expressing things isn't supposed to be a complicated exercise, it's supposed to be about expressing things. I'm not about tooting my horn, although I'm sure some people would argue with that. But, still, there's a billion 'stories' out there. What's the point in trying to represent reality *exactly* as it is? Firstly, that's impossible... and even if it weren't, how boring. So, it's up to us to use innovative and experimental-style juices. There's not nearly enough of that. The problem is that people tend to throw that label around so much. "I don't understand this... It must be... EXPERIMENTAL!", so basically anything that's inarticulate and incomprehensible gets that label. "Lit" on the net. Hmm. You know, I've always loved The Onion (www.theonion.com). They've basically patented every use of "sarcasm" ever. UXU still publishes, although far from regularly (www.uxu.org). That's all that rolls off the top of my head, unfortunately. I read Film Threat, which is a weekly indie-film e-zine mailed out. Crowe: Tell more about HOE, and do you have any other projects coming that we might find interesting? Mogel: HOE changes. In its most recent incarnation, HOE is basically my attempt at pissing all over everything I've ever done. But, at the same time, embracing what e-zines are *really* about, to some kind of gross, logical extreme. But it's also fun. The idea is this: You write something, we publish it. No matter how ridiculous, weird, stupid, crazy, silly, etc, it is. "How awful," most people would say, "No quality control!" Somehow, however, HOE has managed to become pretty fun to work with. Our "reject ALMOST nothing" policy has brought us a ton of *totally* diverse writers, numbering over 45, and we've been gathering a real community of folks. In a lot of ways, it's more of a community than ever before. For me, anyway. And by writer I mean regular writer. Someone who writes at least every other month. The idea, again, is this: who the fuck cares? E-zines have *always* been trashy. Why pretend that they're not? Instead, let's have fun with it. Let's totally run with stupidity. Let's get naked and dance on main street. In fact, this has made some people find new, incredibly creative ways to be post-modern and stupid. And at the same time, it's attracted a few people who don't "get it". People who submit to HOE as if it were any regular style e-zine... and that's always good for a few cheap laughs. Crowe: You just gotta respect that sort of lackluster policy on content. What, if any, is the future of your website, DTO.NET? Any direction on that front? Mogel: Actually, Jamesy now runs DTO.NET, and Murmur is somehow releasing issues... although very slowly. But it's a total dinosaur. Like a monster. There was something really noble about DTO: wanting to make an e-zine that aspired to have *actual* quality and style and diversity. Crowe: I used to visit dto.net weekly. It was an inspiration, along with DTO itself for a lot of my early zine work. It would be a blast to see it back! Mogel: well, DTO was monthly for our first 2 years. The problem was we were total dreamers. I was probably the least dreamy of everyone, and that was a problem. I'm totally into doing creative stuff and having fun. I don't care about being "BIG". But the rest of the people highly involved really had big ideas. We went to this rolling, weekly format. At least 4 new articles every week. For a while it was nice, but it began to feel very *forced*. I wasn't having fun anymore. I dragged my heels. We ended up just bitching all the time. Basically, it was a text book case for "too many cooks spoil the dinner". But I am glad I did it. It's satisfying to pull something creative together with a bunch of friends. And I think that should be anyone's goal when doing a community-oriented literary production. Which most e-zines are. Crowe: Like you, I like the community of the whole "scene". I would like to see it support itself, and especially each other. That's basically my site's (www.lit.org) goal. I like doing collaborating work with people, I find it rewarding. I like sharing my ideas and seeing what other creative people are up to. Mogel: I think that's pretty noble. I'm a big fan of idea-exchange and communication. We're in a medium of pseudo-"art", but that's no reason to pretend we're not also in the business of communication. In some ways, we have more liberty than anyone else anywhere in expressing whatever we want. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - THE PLAY by RottenZ Scene 1. PAUL - Fuck. STACY - What's the problem? PAUL - Have you seen my mother fucking lighter anywhere? STACY - Paul... I don't think this is working... PAUL - Where's my goddamn lighter? STACY - Paul, I think you and I should just be... friends... you know... PAUL - Ah, Here it is. Christ, just about gave me a god damn heart attack. STACY - You aren't even listening to me! PAUL - I heard you the first time, bitch. (RAPE) SCENE 2. STEVEN - So, Paul, I found your lighter. PAUL - Thanks. (RAPE) - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - A Lesson From The Chronicler by Anodyne You are not reading these words. You are touching me. In fact, you have your left hand on my right shoulder. Go ahead, put your other hand on my other shoulder. It's okay. We're friends. Now I want to know if I can kiss you. Is it okay? Good. Now that wasn't so bad, was it? I'm going to ask you to open your mouth wide now. Feel the tendons pulling at the back of your jaw, holding it apart, apart, and release. Good. Now I am going to rotate my head once counter-clockwise. I feel one 'pop' exactly one-hundred seventy-three degrees through the circle. Now I am shaking my left leg lightly, bending the knee slowly through the full range of motion. Okay, now you can release my shoulders. I am putting my right index finger on the center of your bottom lip. Don't move. Slowly extend your tongue so I can just see the tip. Good. I am removing my finger. Retract your tongue. Now that you are warmed up, please remove your pants. Don't worry, we're alone. Now isn't that much more comfortable? What's that you say? You're used to reading text files without pants? That's why I picked you, my dear--I knew you'd be able to help. I am placing my left thumb at the entrance of your vagina, one millimeter from the outer labia. Don't move. I am going to penetrate you. Is that okay? Good. The genital stimulation you are receiving should be pleasurable. It is? Good. I am sliding my knuckle against your pubococcygeal muscle, resulting in a significant pull on the clitoral hood. From the noise you make I gather that this is an exceedingly exquisite sensation. You lose track of time. I am removing my thumb. Please put your pants back on and allow your breathing to return to normal. This isn't that kind of text file, after all. You knew that when you started. You came here looking for insight. Of course, you've already been given the insight. Still don't understand? I'll show you once more because I have all the time in the world, if you'll excuse the pun. I am looking into your eyes now. I can see your pupils dilate slightly. My face is intensity, tinged with compassion. You consider me attractive but not overly so. Then it changes. I Know You. I show you that I Know You. You are spirited away by Hermes. You are in awe. You lose track of time. Don't worry, I was keeping track. It's my job, after all. It was ten seconds. In those ten seconds you didn't /know/ the meaning of life--you /were/ the meaning of life. You see, human beings are the only creatures on the planet so acutely aware of Time. I have just taught you that time, not death, is the opposite of life. Time encompasses Death; without Time there is no death. I am breaking the hands off your clock. Now go live. Go lose track of time. I love you too much to bear having you visit me again. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - STUPID FUCKING IRC QUOTEZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ ahahhahaha Teletype why are you so fat? the only reason your shit smells is because you eat shit all day you go to mcdonalds and eat your rancid shit-burger and then you go home and dump your filth into the toilet. and every time the shit goes through another body it smells worse. in twenty years, the stench of your shit will have grown exponentially and you'll just sit there in your house smelling your own shit from your bathroom. and then when you get hungry again you'll get in your shit car and go down to taco bell and eat some more shit. and what's worse, it's mexican shit, and it passes through your system and you just sit around and fart and shit all fucking day. and you'll keep eating more because you're only passing shit through your filthy intestines and leaving your stomach unfed and your whole life will be SHIT SHIT SHIT and you will complain and EAT MORE SHIT this pizza is so good that its cheese is more powerful than I am this cheese stands a good chance of defeating me once and for all im not cool im just v0ntrips *niteeboy* fuck you ya dumb ass fat shit dick computer ass fucking phreak wanna be cunt hole shit box nigga without a fuckin tan you ball of ugly fat butter, crisco fuck head...fuck off!!! I just rode my bike up the street to buy cigs.. on the way back a fuckin goose started chasing me.. some fast motherfuckers cooking on the web would be dumb it would be like "click on the ingredients, now drop it to the pot" and then a new browser would launch and display a random piece of furniture and say "oh no! you messed up and accidentally cooked up a KITCHEN SINK! ha ha!" I know you're too stupid to take this personally, but it really is painful to me to think there are more than 2 or 3 people who would care if you died I would rather exterminate the human race than kick my cat. i've had a big-head-complex for 20 years but after seeing quarex i feel better pointers are like the ultimate mortal kombat cheat code up-up-down-down-kick-punch YES!@$ int becomes float!@$ everson's constant: "for every subject X, there is 3 geocities pages saying "X is Cool", 2 saying "X suX", and at least 1 "X ate my balls." all the HOE girls need dick. i defecate maybe once a week and it smells fucking great. you could probably eat my shit and it would have more nutrients left in it than that mexican shit down at taco bell. If you were suddenly face to face with God, what question would you ask? "should i install freeBSD?" "Are you ready?" "how can i successfully elongate my penis without visible stretch marks, or surgery?" "Is heaven as lame as Care-a-lot?" how can you worship the goddess without munching a rug what if eggdrops had a limited intelligence and a collective consciousness? what if they got actual pleasure from having ops. what if they started taking channels to seek that pleasure? what if they offered people warez in return for shells to operate from? i think i'm going to try to give life to a species of bot. a bot that tries to survive and emulate people. we're talking about a way for it to procreate and survive. isn't it amazing how conversations that would take five minutes on the phone take two hours on irc? ahahah It must be pretty hard being so fucking ugly, Unrelated you know, i should list the top "paranormal" topics i hate hearing about #1 is FAITH HEALING like, who gives a fuck #2 is PSYCHIC SURGERY like, who gives a fuck to this as well #3 is NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCES because you can easily recreate them with nitrous oxide #4 is ALIEN ABDUCTION because it's LAME #5 is MIRALCES because i'm not Catholic so i don't understand the virgin Mary fascination #6 is BIGFOOT or LOCH NESS MONSTER sighitings because there isn't enough substantial evidence to seriously be creepy let's put UFO sightings in that group as well #7 is SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION because there are only a few documented cases and the "authority" on the subject is always some crotchety old fire chief on some local fire dept who is like "It may be possible.. we just don't know!" why do you think all i talk about is sex! whenever anyone comes into my room, I get a cat on my lap, turn the chair around and say "Ahhhhh, I've been expecting youuuu" i'm trying to get banned from #u2 right now #rabbi is full boreing... this second my life is boreing! * HeLrAiSeR look's at a linux book to his left. hummm if i read it will i be more bored or less... * HeLrAiSeR ponders. well i read all the windowz books.. and i got my self a mcse. so i got linux left or Bo Os. HeLrAiSeR, how can i be happy? mogle follow what i say to the letter. get 1.5 grams of weed roll it up .. smoke a couple of piners. buy 40oz of beer "one bottle or two depending on your tolerance. and u be a very happy man. :) it works all the time. or get a girlfriend with a high libito ,and have responsibilites..... and u'll be happy with all the sex if ur into that. :) * HeLrAiSeR gone to praise the rain god in his shower! a.k.a taken a shower. the only thing anyone ever talks about in #ezines is oral sex & cats i don't think #ezines serves any purpose other than something to do while drinking alone i think i may kill myself. i'm so serious. I was dumped AGAIN. *sna* i'm going to pack your ass with moldy bread and ship you fourth class to madagascar you've got to screw me before i'm legal. now, if i had a coat the could make me look like the pope, i would be a severe pain in the ass of the catholic church. because i would like, run in a church, fart loudly, and then throw a bunch of choco-rats on the people from my bag of Bubonic Rats. "augh!@$ the pope gave me the plague!@" "what a stinky fart, your holiness!" either that, or i'd perform "wacky baptisms" I've got a black dragon of poop! well, I just felt I exuded the aura of incompetence, but off that, here's a raw, irrelevant question which I must ask: why didn't you let me stick it in? don't put your thing in the bad hole. *ingy* No one appreciates me for who I am. i wish i had the source code to australia hahah hohoohoh heheheh heheheh ahahha hohooh hehehehe heheheh hehhehehehe hehehehehheheheheh ahhahahahhahhahahahah hohohohohoohohohohohooh it all makes sense!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - FREEDOM: AN EPILOGUE by Basehead Well I don't know where I'm headed. A freight train and a blanket of mud and a'watchin' the scenery go by. I'd die a hobo death, I would, and I'd sink like a stone. Enter my mind on a golden yarn, take back just what you've brought. And don't tell me no lies... Yeah lies, about that old great big blue sea that can't be crossed, that can't be climbed. If this were a beautiful country to get lost in then brother I'm already lost and when you're lost you're in the dark and the dark isn't a kind of less light, it's more like a want of light. The heady among y'all will see that. Well I'm a funny bird that never lands, and the rock you skip that never returns. I was the boomerang my mother threw, and she was dead when I came back. Tears aren't much even when they fill a cup but I've had my fill. When bones is brittle bones is thin, well. I never felt I could see with my bones so well. Down to the (proverb'ul) well, and I looked in, and among the grime and stone I shone. Much to a reflection, in the sense that it's lived in. I've lived in. They say, some say, I'm a saddlebag with eyes. Leathery-er than the hide itself. Mighty kind, I say, and tip my hat, and I don't know who wants to talk to a nigger anyway. A barber's son shows me round back roundabout, and there's the branches of LIFE, well they're blooming and who would guess (as little Jakey scamp'red away) them was the branches of DEATH. Well you have to go back aways, so I did, and I saw myself in as much as a man sees his reflection in a tree. That could've been me, but the barber's son saw no one but me, and it's a shame. Two eyes and two teeth and that's all on one side, no redemption, and it's a shame Jakey doesn't know history. And I mean his story. Been a long time coming, a state of mind. Kinda like an old log, that lays awhile before it falls apart. Bloody bruises aren't much for show, but who can tell. Kinda like an old dog, that lays awhile before those big bloodshot eyes close for their last.. Lockin' old secrets like a safe deposit box in them big banks, like in Savannah.. on Bank Street. When you dig yourself a hole and that's work and the day is through then don't you wish there was somethin' to show? Spit on the ground, make a spot for yuhself and sit down. Life yuh ever knew looked back and didn't blink, but jes maybe it needed specs, then it would see these achin' limbs and say LORD give him light. Give him love, christ, give him SOMETHIN'. Just give him somethin'. Got a brother around Memphis, looking down at the bottom of the bottle and he's ALL bottled up. I'm not wishin' he'd get off the bottle much as I'm wishin' he'd see where it's got him. And I say Freedom ain't all you'd think it was, when it wasn't. Maybe jes saying there's Freedom isn't bein' free, and even though I sit on the stoop and that's a stoop made for sitting, I got to thinking. Kinda as if you were hearing a story and you had one bum ear. And you can't quite make't out. Well. thats what it sounded like to ol' me. I say i'm not much for livin now, when I look around. Hold a candle to the walls, in a way you see what's been scrawled there. Hands not made for work and slicing them apart until it's rawer than any meat you did see before its been cooked. They made for creatin'. Maybe, what's a nigger know about creatin'! yuh say and you shut them doors before they was open. And the keys you fumble for ain't much good in the dark in a room with no doors. There's lessons bein learned, got no doubt. Not taken to heart maybe, taken to mind. I got lost and I ain't found my way home, I feel like the one that got through, slippin through fingers like some ol' strainer and I'm what got by. Yeah, that big open country that would be my playground. A fine place of my own, a noble place to set a spell. A place for a nigger like me. With a patch'uh stubble like moss a bit on that log that sits, and my own soil for plantin'. I guess that jes should be enough, but this life seemin all too familiar to these eyes. Yuh change names and faces, and the wheels and gears that hold this little heaven up? Well they're still the same as ever, and I reckon no man nigger or white can say somethin' different. It's a defeat for the heart. Walkin' through a dandelion field, well I feel maybe fer a moment, that pride. Like a fleeting smiling sun. Passing through two dark clouds but he's smiling down on me anyway, and I'd like tuh think that's God's face shinin' down. Between them clouds. I'd spin a golden yard out of this old mind, keep it in a safe place. Find my youngest son up in yankee country, hopin' he made it like I hope for my next breath. Pass on this golden yarn and maybe that piece uh me will go on, maybe they'll remember when I'm gone. The ol' white men and their lovely wives, I do say lovely and mean it too because they was and I'd lie if I said so somethin' else. They were lovely and they made a show of it. When me and my gang clanged away down the side of some muddied up hill, outta sight. Hear the train comin' and well you felt a bit of pride from yuh work. That train and those men and they wives will stay lovely, and quicker get to the next city too. Maybe cuzza me. Cuz of me and my gang. Well, that's somethin'. Jes wishin' they could see me there, I'd smile an' wave an'.. well, that's somethin'. Late night sometime i felt a sting in the heart. Woke up yellin' and sweatin' all cold, them nightmares.. the hounds uh hell chasin' me over one of them muddied hills down through swamp and old dirt roads and I swear they was on to me but I always woke up then. I'm an old dreamer, who ain't got no dreams no more, 'cept dreams of death and I'd say I'd rather have no dreams than these. Sometimes I felt a sting in the heart.. yeah. A sting. My mother, a sting.. and my brother, a sting.. and my eldes' son. Well, my eldes' son, I know he done wrong but he ain't never done that wrong. And a man gets to thinkin about birds that never land cuz they just fly too high, and a son that sank like a stone in a river south of Mobile. The crow and the pebble. These battered old wings cant fly too far.. what good then, keep a crow all caged until he gives up his fight and then jes open the door a speck. Well if that's what I'm s'pposta be on my knees for then these old knees'll stay clean. A boy ain't a boy th'out his father, and a father ain't a father th'out his boy, and my boy, he's nothin' at all. Funny how you never know other lives you had in yuh. Saw a man once out Montgomery-way, seemed to take a likin' to me. Said I had a mind for a deck uh cards, coulda made a nice sum if'n only they allowed niggers. I thought that was a nice thing tuh say, but not much to console me, no. Guess you look old destiny in the face after every few seasons and he seems a bit closer and he looks'a bit more knowin' every time. Old man destiny and old man fate was good friends and I'd say both pretty smug to these eyes. Saw 'um in my daydreams, back when I had some dreams of fancy years ago. Said I thought someday there'd be place fer me and my son up where folks didn't take 'vantage and they just laughed all hearty and took me in and said some words I think says a lot, and i'm tellin' it how i remember it.. they said to me: folks bred for this life ain't the same as other folks. said I was livin' on like I should, cuz that's who I am, that's what i'll be. I suppose it made sense, inn'a way. Don't know what I'd do left tuh my own devices. That's what I thought then, and now I don't know where I'm headed, what I done at the last town, feel like a stone skipped from place to place but never findin' one place home. Heard stories bout heritage, but I don't know if that's my kind. Africa on the other side'th world. Well that ain't me. It is me and it ain't. Guess it's hard to understand, most folks. Wish I felt like I been stripped uh somethin', maybe they did back in them days in the beginning. Crazy tribal warriors or somethin', I can't say, gettin' on that big boat. Well that ain't me, only I wish it were. Maybe these old bones would feel some fightin' in them, if'n I had that fire in here.. in the heart. Beatin' like the heart of a tribal drum drummin', wish I felt blood beatin' these veins behind m'eyes. Wishin'. But when that's all it is, a wish, that's not heritage, that's jes hurt. Well I feel my last legs comin' on, and I can't stand much longer, on this good earth. I won't die a noble death on my patch of land.. I'll die searchin' for my other boy, at the end 'these endless rusty tracks. Tracks I had a hand in, must say. Maybe my boy's at the end and he's done up nice, and he's waitin' for his father, and he's got himself a good job and a good life. Well. Thas all I need to see 'fore I die. That smilin' face. Guess that's the last dream for this dreamer, come to think. Guess when your hopes for your own lose meanin', there's nothin' left. Yeah, they took a lot from me and not just me 'course. But they can't never take it all. Maybe jes sayin' there's Freedom isn't bein' free, like ah said. I guess I know where I'm headed aft'all. Yeah, my boy.. Good lord, my boy. I'll spin the grandest gold yarn you or he ever did see. I'm hopin I find 'im. I'll pass on this presh'ess yarn, cuz it's all I've got. Maybe that piece 'uh me will go on. Maybe someone'll remember when I'm gone. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - HEY BASEHEAD, I WANT IT IN MY BUTT by CannibalB When your mentality breaks down and tries hitchhiking home, will somebody pick it up? My lips have pills in the glovebox that decrease the ringing in my ears and my head has a handgun under the seat. Tie me up with twine and string me from house to house. I want the world to see that I am the universal princess. Baby, I am the garment that chafes your skin- the blaze across your spine. You're my match and I'm the kerosene. Electric juices sprint across the telephone line and melting in your mouth. Savor my flavor because baby, I have two left feet and a wand of black art. I'll start with your eyes and open your thoughts. You're my lucky charm, so pass the milk. Baby, I have no buttons to sew when my threads come undone. Pick the fruit I bare and spoil your appetite. t h i s i s t h e s o u n d o f m y t r u e c o l o r s u n c o i l i n g I'm beautiful when your tongue is flickering inside of me. Embracing my womanhood for one night and then permanently deleting me from your data bank. Just tell me I'm your number one rank. Was it as good for you as it was for me? You loved me for 20 minutes and I'm still feeling wet. The void inside of me is filled with your sweat. These holes have made me more absorbent than a sponge. Before carving the notch on your bedpost, will you hold me until I fall asleep? Laying on the chilling bathroom floor with legs wide open, she screams for comfort. Scissors are her doctor, the girl cuts and flushes. Tossed in a garbage bag and over a shoulder, another queen dies. Thrown in a dumpster with haunting cries, her maternal instincts still dont kick in. Bitches will pay on judgement day. Another thread comes undone. I'm a ballerina, spinning in my own web of lies. Gouging myself with goodies and treats. Crying for help in my sleep. Fingers are my only friend, saliva running down my hand. Again, I flush and feel cleansed of my evils. Bending down, I see my own reflection in the water and apologize. My body is the piano, I'm a conductor of natural disasters. I've got the blues. Today treated me like I didn't exist. Now it's time to be beaten with my own fist. Letting the anger out of its cage, hit after hit, I'm afraid of this rage. I'm at peace without Jesus, but I still want more. Without this, I'm mentally poor. Now, I've got the black to go with my blues. Another thread comes undone. I keep herbal love with botanic ways in a shoebox beneath my bed. I'm a daysleeper, posing nude for Mr. SandMan. I'm not a drama queen, I just pretend to be real. Sweet heart, this _is_ how I feel. I'm the girl who gives you knots in your stomach. I'm the girl you wish you could be. Just dont pull back my sheets, the real me has a tendency to occupy its time there. Me love you long time. I'm a porcelain doll, upright in my stand. Stuffed with artificial materials and sold across the land. My skin is dry clean only and stained with filthy prints. Burned to the stake and called a shifty witch. I'm living for free while my pride pays the fee. Fitting their careers in my purse, I swear things couldnt be worse. I've got this feeling that I cant seem to shake. My personality is nothing but fake. I want a ticket to anywhere. Floating down the river and they're paddling for me. My personal chef will cut you a piece of my pie and top it with whipped cream for a share of your maincourse. I am the world's Yoko Ono, PUSSY HOT HOT HOT. Oh yeah, this file was supposed to be about anal sex. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - _The Drizzt Trilogy; Part 3 - Drizzt vs. The Teletubbies_ by Styx Drizzt was lazing by the side of the creek, slowly regaining painful consciousness after two terrible ordeals in which seemingly harmless wood-dwelling creatures took advantage of him in stomach-nauseating, profane ways. He had become a god, yes, but it took such a horrible toll on his body that not even the cosmic powers he had acquired could assist him in sitting up. He stared at the immaculate blue sky for quite some time, gritting his teeth at his humility. He tried to make out the shapes of the clouds. "An erect penis," he muttered. "A cat." He took a deep breath. The urine between his thighs and the semen that coated most of his body and the blood that covered even more of him had dried and, due to sun-exposure, had festered into a permeating stench. Drizzt fought hard, hard, even harder to hold down his bile, but to no avail. With a soul-wrenching shudder, it shot up his esophagus and spewed out of his mouth like a fountain of liquid agony. He turned his head and coughed the rest up, careful not to drown in his fluids. "Woe is me," he wailed. "Woe is me for happening upon such sordid circumstances! Salvatore! Greenwood! Ao! Where are you now?" There was movement to his left, then, but so exhausted was he that he could do nothing but listen. "Eh-oh!" a quiet voice whispered. "Eh-oh!" several voices echoed. He heard the pitter-patter of several pairs of feet approaching him. Could it be the Care Bears again, he wondered? Winnie the Pooh and his gangster cohorts? He got his answer immediately. Four faces appeared above him. Green, red, yellow, and blue they were, and quite cute. "Lawful Good for sure!" he exclaimed. Blood bubbled from his stomach wounds when he spoke, but he did not have a care! "Po!" said the red one, and stood on a funny scooter! "Laa Laa!" said the yellow one, and carried a bouncy ball! "Dipsy!" said the green one, and wore a fuzzy hat! "Tinky Winky!" said the blue one, and dangled a silly handbag! "The Teletubbies!" they said in unison! "Hello, Teletubbies! I am Drizzt Do'Urden, and I am a powerful drow god. I have been raped verily! If you could fetch me some water and bandages, I shall reward you with many fun toys to play with for eternity!" The Teletubbies looked at each other and blinked in confusion. "Raped drow!" whispered Dipsy. "Raped drow!" they others whispered in unison. "Drow toy?" Tinky Winky questioned. "Drow toy!" the others confirmed in unison. They rolled him up and down the grassy hills, they bounced him like Laa Laa's ball, they tried to fit him in Tinky Winky's handbag, they rode on his back like he was Po's scooter. Dipsy even tried to wear him on his head! "Drow hat?" Dipsy asked, holding a limp, bloody Drizzt on his head. "Drow hat!" the others shouted in glee, giggling! Drizzt was screaming, screaming in pain. Screaming at the gods. Screaming at Toril. Screaming at the authors, screaming at the novels, and screaming because Po had bent him over a wooden stump like a bitch and was pounding furiously, laughing merrily. "Sodomy!" exclaimed Po. "SODOMY!" the rest shouted happily, and they all took part in the game. It was then that Drizzt's eyes rolled into the back of his head and his saliva stopped frothing at the mouth. It was then that his testicles retreated into his pelvic cavern. It was then that the drow's big, heroic heart gave way and it pumped its last dose of life, for it could take no more. He slumped with a sigh and his hot skin began the long, slow chill of god-death. "What 'dat?" asked Po, pointing at the drow. "Broken toy!" the Teletubbies exclaimed! "Again! Again!" they whispered in unison. And they did it again, reveling in the necrophilia they had unwittingly stumbled upon. They took turns back and forth, back and forth, until they were very tired. "Messy toy!" they whispered, watching their goo seep out of his anus. And their friend Noo-Noo the Hoover sidled around, lowering his vacuum hose down onto Drizzt's penis, and sucked the drow's entire carcass up quickly into his insides. "Yay Noo-Noo!" the Teletubbies giggled! And they danced a happy dance! And the baby sun smiled down at them, and laughed, and gave them a wink! It was an eventful day in Teletubby Land! Then, without warning, a microphone arose from the green meadow rolls, and a loud voice came hither. "Time for Tubby Bye-Bye! Time for Tubby Bye-Bye!" it demanded. "Eh-oh!" they whispered in unison, and pitter-pattered to their spaceship to sleep a wonderful, Teletubby sleep and have wonderful, Teletubby dreams. And as they slept, Noo-Noo lurked in the shadows of the ship, heavy with a compartment full of dead drow in his metal stomach. He grinned, waved his hose around, and darted his eyes from right to left, then right to left again. "Drow taste good," Noo-Noo mumbled. "Real good." The end. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - To: Quarex From: PoTo Subject: my story the girl sat at her desk, repeatedly slapping the bracelet against her wrist. each slap was punctuated by the sound of her voice, which kept saying "ow" over and over and over again. she had removed the pretty holographic wrapping from the bracelet, and was awaiting it to cut her wrists, as so many news reports had claimed those bracelets did. "come on, damn it, you were banned for a reason..." she complained. yet after the continual slapping did no good, she finally picked up a no. 2 pencil that was minus the eraser, and killed herself using the metal edge. moral of the story: they weren't banned for any GOOD reason. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - "What I Need" by Rhea Love without a half-life, that's what I need. I need something to counter-balance this constant decay of my fingernails. Oh, the way the smog lies so heavy on my shoulders is so smug. ugh. With a sigh, and a fly, in my eye, I cry, just like the pilgrims. "Slaves to democracy?" I heard once--a little bird told me--a bird in a guilded cage, of course, and I thought--"maybe!" But still I say, "Ring-a-ding-ding! Freedom of thee, I sing!" beneath the shackles of everything I am that isn't what I ought to be that isn't what I could be that isn't what a human should be that isn't what the world should be--there shouldn't be this smog, it hurts my eyes--and I believe in the Declaration of Independence because at least it's something and I'd believe in love because it's something if progress hadn't discovered the carbon atom, which is nothing. (It was gone as soon as we knew it could be--like innocence--oh, the poor pilgrims!) (But freedom works the other way, doesn't it?) How cruel. And now the world hums with life and yet and yet and yet I wonder what life was before there was such deep rooted hypocrisy where even _liberty_ chains me down and where a=b and b=c but a does not equal c and where the humming was just my computer all along. A mile-long smile while all the while it was just a senile crocodile. One thing I regret is that I chew and swallow my food without savoring the taste, without feeling the texture, without noticing how the different flavors melt together, and so the only way flavor gets across to me is when it's exaggerated to the point of crass, unthinking vulgarity just like everything else in my sweet land of liberty. I take eating for granted. I take my cereal and my yogurt and my soda and my chicken for granted and I shovel it in mindlessly. Shouldn't eating be an art? Shouldn't breathing be an art? Decay's okay, they say, if you play all day, and by the way don't forget you're clay (but only on Sunday) and by the way on Friday don't forget your pay, it helps you play but I disagree, you see. And so I'm free. Yeah, I'm free. (Free from uncomfort, free from belief.) Free from love. I have so many chains in such a tangle, I can't even distinguish them anymore. Sweet liberty! If I could only taste you--really taste you! I don't know how yet. But I know what I need. Love without a half-life, that's what I need. And all the while, the smug smog smiles. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - A TREK TO THE LAND OF THE ELUSIVE SIMILE by Phairgirl Like a rusty fork in your eye, like a molten lava Christmas pie, like a scabbed and blistered Buddhist monk, like a processed chicken chunk. Like a forward-reeling stabbed black man, like a backhand bitchslap frying pan, like a jewish chocolate Christmas gift, like a fallen broken lift. Like a child's ceremonial knife, like a german shepherd fucks your wife, like a stained and disemboweled hog, like a Christmas catalog. Like a skin graft covering gaping holes, like a vegan eating deep-fried moles, These are the ways that I love you, Moo moo moo moo moo moo moo. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - POLISHING AL ROKER'S HEAD by Kreid A lot of people have told me, "Dave, I don't know how you do it. Every time I try to polish Al Roker's head, it comes out all wrong. And yet, every time you polish Al Roker's head, it is with grace and precision, and the effects are mesmerizing." Now, technically, that's not really a question; in fact, I've never actually been asked about my head-polishing technique. Perhaps it the subject intimidates ordinary people; or perhaps these confrontations have all been out of feigned interest. Regardless of these things, I have chosen this night to finally reveal the secrets of my success. So without further ado, I present to you _The Definitive Guide to Polishing Al Roker's Head_. The first thing you need to do to prepare for the head-polishing is to get yourself a good pair of elbow-length gloves. I usually prefer rubber, but canvas or studded vinyl should also work fine. After putting the gloves on, I like to have a session of meditation or heavy crack-smoking to get myself relaxed and focused for the task to come. Within three hours, I am ready for Mr. Roker's call. Now, this call can come at around noontime, or it can come as late as 4 in the afternoon. Mr. Roker is extremely dedicated to his routine of eating three boxes of donuts every morning, and I've noticed that this process has been taking longer and longer ever since he picked up that heavy smack addiction while vacationing in Bali with the Dali Lama. The important thing for you to remember as the head-polisher is that you must be prepared when the time comes. So no matter what you do while you're waiting, you must maintain your focus! Be forewarned that activities such as television and sex can cripple your focus in mere moments. Do whatever you can to keep a clear mind. Despite the constant pleading sounds I hear when I walk through the company harem down at the TV station, I must reject all sexual thoughts. Alcohol, tobacco, and caffeine should be avoided like the plague. And, let me tell you, if you're going to smoke crack, have enough so that you won't start fiending while you're in the middle of a head-polishing session, and whatever you do, keep the crack away from Mr. Roker! If he knows you are on crack, he will demand that you share some with him, which means less for you, and also means that you're going to have to polish a head that won't sit still. In the event that he knows I'm on crack and insists on smoking a pipe with me, I keep some crushed up motion sickness pills with me. After Roker smokes that stuff, he stops moving for at least 4 or 5 hours--this is a perfect play for an experienced head-polisher. After you get the call, the next logical step is to drive down to the TV studio. I don't think I need to remind anyone that Al Roker is not a patient man; so no matter how far you live from the studio, you have to haul ass or Roker will be pissed when you get there. And remember: you are employed by a major television studio and therefore have a great deal of immunity as far as the law is concerned. So if you're like me and you don't have a car, I recommend stealing the first police car you can find; that way you won't look quite as suspicious when you're cutting through Central Park at 110 MPH. If all goes well, you should be walking into Mr. Roker's office around the same time that his head is hitting the floor from his pre-head-polishing shot. Don't bother knocking on his door, just walk in--he sometimes acknowledges your presence with a crooked smile, but not always. Personally, I try not to look at his face when he's high; I get menacing flashbacks when I see overweight black junkies. Anyway, the first thing you need to do at that point is get the needle out of his arm; he will almost always leave it in there, and that can leave some nasty track-marks, which a celebrity like Al Roker cannot afford to have, especially when he insists on wearing short sleeves as much as he does. After the needle is out, put it somewhere out of his arm's reach, but somewhere he can still find it the next time he wants to get high. After that, you'll probably need to clean up his mess, usually he leaves some cooked gear spilling out of a spoon onto his office floor, so clean that up. And I know what you're thinking--don't try to snort that stuff! Heroin and head-polishing are just not compatible with each other! Just try to clean up enough to not leave too many brown stains on the floor and put out his candles so as not to have to clean wax off the floor later. Here comes the hardest part: lifting Roker into his chair... that's gotta be at least a metric ton of dead weight, and if you'll believe it, the heroin hasn't taken off a single pound. Some head-polishers in the past have brought pulleys and wheelbarrows to work in the past, but I like to do it the old-fashioned way. A little bit of butter smeared in the right places can get a fat man sliding into pretty much any position. Now, if you've followed all the instructions, you should have the focus and the energy you'll need to do the actual head-polishing. But as head-polishing is a complex and beautiful dance, I can only give a few pieces of advice to the unexperienced. Remember to spit directly on the head--it is the key to a bright, yet non-shiny polishing. Also, don't try touching the bumpy hairy things on his neck or your hands will be covered with them in a matter of hours. Beside that, just remember to concentrate! Be the polish. Make love to the head. Make the head your bitch; it begs for your love, but you give nothing to it, you only take! Take, take, take! Do you like it, bitch? Of course you do! I acknowledge that this is a minimalist approach to head-polishing. Of course my technique defies most conventions of modern head-polishing, but still, I consistently eclipse the head-polishing industry with the quality of my work! In my view, it is a mad art, devoid of logic, overflowing with catastrophe, and should not be attempted by the feint of heart. If you do not master it, it will master you. Need I mention the fatality rate of head-polishers these days? It sickens my heart to know how many have died, only aspiring to be like me, a common working man... a zen master... a head-polisher. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - BABY ROCK ME by Tasha "Okay, now take a different marker and highlight the beginning of every sentence in your paper." "What about quotes in our papers, ma'am?" "Quotes are a whole other world, Natasha." "Wow, my paper begins with a whole other world." "Did you expect anything less?" "I would have settled for Africa, though it does have an insanely high fertility rate." It's really remarkable the types of things that can reflect so much on one's character and impressions on others. Usage of quotes and such. My teacher loved me after that and compares me to comic strip characters. She thinks she has me figured and once claimed to realize the way I think and understand me. I don't know. I don't understand myself. I sometimes wonder if the way I read words that are juxtaposed together in something such as a jpeg title is any metaphorical and symbolical indication of my view of humanity. Maybe my wanting to create the names of people and places into clever and witty phrases really expresses my inherent hope for humanity to be something better than it really is. My refusal to, while knowing the truth of human behavioral tendencies, really accept and come to terms with the fact that humans simply don't live up to their inherent potential. Snow is a good way to really judge a person's character. It splits the population up nicely. The people who talk endlessly about its beauty and the people who complain endlessly about how impractical it is. These people could be classified as optimists or pessimists or transcendentalists and what have you. Then, of course, there is me, who feigns transcendentalism by briefly remarking on the white beauty before screaming about time and time and time and I'mgoingtobelategoddamnit. Pseudo-intellectualism. In a long hallway which smells of burning sulfur from high school chemistry experiments, the children linger by the coffin-shaped windows and stare at the ground three floors below them. They make faces with their breath and hurry to class as a loud bell rings down the hall, shaking everything, shaking the windows. A high school chemistry student smiles at me with a mouth full of teeth. Most people have a mouth full of teeth, and I usually don't notice them, but I notice his. I'm writing this filled with worry, because as I read through previous sentences, trying to decide what may go next, I notice that they slightly resemble sentences I've read before. Resemble sentences of 70-year-old males writing about junksickness which is slang for heroin withdrawal or heroin high and 30-year-old males writing about infantile saints and their lingering Oedipus complex and search for a father. The candles are red and bleeding, expressing the death of the flowers which don't have blood of their own and wilt due to their inferiority. Inferior because they don't have blood and humans are the only organisms that count; animals don't have blood, they have juice to flavor and moisten their meat. During puberty, a girl grows fatty deposits on her hips which aid during the third trimester of pregnancy and males have an innate desire for females with a 0.7 waist to hip ratio. I don't have a 0.7 waist to hip ratio. I'm not built for childbearing and my ovaries are dysfunctional. When I was born, my heart was dysfunctional. When I was four, my ears became dysfunctional and my tonsils became a problem. When I was six, my lungs became dysfunctional. I don't think Darwin would like me very much, as I am certainly not the fittest. My mother has very large hips and is built for childbearing. She's pregnant. A strange boy with an unusual way of talking fancied asking me what my idea of utopia is, because utopia is a relative term, and I wasn't quite sure how to answer him. I've never really pondered my idea of utopia before, other than the automatically silly answers of, "24 hour Golden Girls channel!!!". UtopiaUtopianUtopianism. utopia (yu-toe-pe-ah), noun: 1. a. Often Utopia. An ideally perfect place, especially in its social, political, and moral aspects. b. A work of fiction describing a utopia. 2. An impractical, idealistic scheme for social and political reform. Wooo, holy mother of Jesus, I just inserted a dictionary definition. I am post-modern. I define post-modern. I just defined utopia. I guess I could safely say that my personal idea of utopia is a noun with two definitions, the first of which having two sub-categories, 'a' and 'b'. That would be a very safe definition, I could never go wrong, and I would have evidence to back up my statement. Though, I'd like to have a personal connotation that wasn't automatically silly and I'd like to have a personal definition for utopia that, though people could question it, I would feel safe in replying with. I want to have a fantasy world that I could recall in times of boredom or when I'm disillusioned and disheartened with the scheme of things. I want to have a place I can think of and smile at the thought of, because that seems like a good niche for utopia in the human mind. I want to have a place where the air has a smell every time you wake up and every second you're inhaling it. I don't want to be constantly growing accustom to things. I don't want to have to worry about changing my environment and traveling and traveling endlessly to be re-amused with life and with nature. I want to have a place that's fresh and new all the time. I don't want to grow accustom to experiencing things that are fresh and new. My utopia is being unaccustom. With everything. With anything. With sights and smells and tastes and sounds. With textures and grains and fabrics. But I didn't think of any of this when the strange boy with an unusual way of talking fancied asking me what my idea of utopia is. Instead, I thought briefly, and didn't want to be laughed at or rejected or reacted to in any sort of shocked manner. I thought briefly. I replied briefly. I replied that I didn't know, because I didn't want him to know. I replied that I hadn't thought of anything, because, you know, the second definition of utopia is an impractical, idealistic scheme for social and political reform, and I didn't want the strange boy with an unusual way of talking to ever think that I thought of things that are impractical or idealistic. With the strange boy with an unusual way of talking, I fancied being practical and unidealistic and brutally realistic so that I only contemplated and thought of things as they are now and only formed opinions of the current, rather than forming ideas for the could be or the future. Unfortunately, the strange boy with an unusual way of talking has been enlightened to the ways of my poetry, and though he likes them, I must fight hard to overcome this minor setback in my formation of other's ideas of who I am. I absolutely cannot be one who has written poetry, just like I cannot be one who has contemplated their personal idea of utopia. At least not to the strange boy with an unusual way of talking. I'm not sure if this qualifies as shame, it could, but I don't feel quite shameful. I don't feel I need to repent for these sins of poetry and abstract thinking. My psychology teacher announced today that during puberty and adolescence, one grows the ability to think abstractly. One grows the ability to contemplate things such as nuclear war and consciously realize how these thinks affect him or her. My psychology teacher said this is a sign of maturity. My psychology teacher said a mature person who had gained the ability to think abstractly would have implemented this ability upon discovering that the leader of Russia had resigned and given the presidency over to his vice-president. My psychology teacher said a mature person who had gained the ability to think abstractly would have been worried a bit about the thoughts and ideas of this new leader due to his control over Russian nuclear weapons. I hadn't thought about this, though my mother told me the Russian president had resigned. My mother, of course, has gone through puberty. She has childbearing hips. I think about snow and consciously realize how it affects me and everyone else. I think about snow and I stare down and my breasts and lack of hips and think I could be halfway through puberty and nuclear war will come later, possibly when Africa's fertility rates are lower. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - "The Social Construction of Truth and Existance" by Uberfizzgig The population of the United States is 270 Million. Out of that many people, how many could actually have seen the President? Not on TV, but I mean seen the President physically in person? I took a poll and found that about 3-4% of the US population had actually seen the President in real life. Now, what percentage of the US population claims to have actually seen a ghost? Not on TV, but physically in person? The answer is 10%. Now, if 10 percent of the population has seen a ghost in real life, but only 3-4 percent of the population has ever seen the president in real life, why do we believe that the President is real, but ghosts are not? Heh, heh, heh! Heh! - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - MONDAY MOURNING NEVER FELT SO GOOD (I FUCKED HER ASS WITH A PIECE OF FROZEN SHIT OH YOU KNOW I WOULD) by AIDS burn jeaaneee burnnnnnn PLEASE FORGIVE THEM THEY DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY DU WHEN THEY HURT SOMEONE, SOMEONE LIKE YU I SEE ALL THE FACES NONE OF THEM REMIND ME OF YUuU OUR HEARTS alfdslfs THE SAME WE DOn'T HAVE TO TRY SO HARD SIT BACK RELAX SIT BACK RELAX BLACK BETTY HAD A BABY I WANT TO TELL YOU SOMETHING GOOD SIT BACK RELAX DAMN THING WENT CRAZY I WANT TO TELL YOU SOMETHING SAID IT WEREN'T NONE OF MINE NO IT WEREN'T NONE OF MINE BAMBALAM LITTE THING WENT BLIND BAMAMALAM WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING DOWN THERE AT FOUR O CLOCK IN THE MOURNING? record ing "yeah, really." buttwhore added to the notification list but I CAN'T NOTIFY ANYONE IF I've assumed a new identity as the master of the ocean the conquistador of the seas. REMEMBER WHEN ARTAUD WANTED TO PERFORM THE CONQUEST OF MEXICO AS A THEATER OF CRUELTY PLAY? AND REMEMBER WHEN HIS ALFRED JARRY THEATER FAILED? AND REMEMBER WHEN JODOROWSKI PUT THE FROG VERSION OF THE CONQUEST OF MEXICO IN THE FIRST 30 MINUTES OF THE HOLY MOUNTAIN? Well, you might not remember, but I'm sure Mogel does. There's a good time for film and there's a bad time for film and then there are those people who won't ever see a movie with you, and You transmogrify your intent into decisive need and blast the little girls you met into children that were not women but were blood stained and I make all the lesbians scream Oh yeah I could quote lyrics from albums that are so far in the future you won't ever hear them, but why the hell would I waste my powers on that? THE MESSENGER: IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT ALL YOUR ATTEMPTS TO ELEVATE YOURSELF & CHARLES DARWIN AWAY FROM THE APES CAN'T SAVE YOU NOTHING, AND YOU STILL GET YOUR J. SHERIDAN LeFANU GREEN TEA HARDON WHEN YOU SEE THAT ol' UKRANIAN MAID *** buttwhore added to the notification list *ingy* HELLO. *ingy* HOW ARE YOU? -> *ingy* good -> *ingy* and yourself? -> *ingy* I saw the MESSENGER *ingy* Oo. *ingy* Was it any good? -> *ingy* I loved it. -> *ingy* I think everyone else who has seen it hates it. *ingy* I want to see it. INVERSION INVERSION INVOLUTION OCEAN sit back, relax REMEMBER WHAT MARK E SMITH ALWAYS SAID well, once, EXPERIMENTAL IS NOW CONVENTIONAL CONVENTIONAL IS NOW EXPERIMENTAL and is no way noble Also: "YOU THOUGHT IT WOULD BE GREAT YOU THOUGHT IT WOULD BE GREAT BUT A GOOD MIND IS NOT A GOOD FUCK MATE" but we all know which applies when and now we're dealing with our own inadequacies not those of the ones we fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Yes, fuck. AH, don't you see? When GUILLIAME wrote ZONE he removed all the punctuation. It's cubist! It's futurist! It's Dada! It's Surrealism! It's Kobek! WHAT WHAT EAT MY NUT BAMBALAM WELL I'M JARETT KOBEK AND I'M A ONE MAN BAND. YOU CAN'T HEAR THE RANGE OF BASS ON MY STEREO BECAUSE I LACK THE SUBWOOFER. SMOKING CRACK LIKE OTHER RAPPERS SMOKE COCK, SMOKING CESS LIKE OTHER RAPISTS SMOKE COCK, YES YES, I KNOW MY NAME IS STEVEN SODDENBURG... Old, old, I've been feeling old lately. As I look back and peruse all the HOE in all of the world, all of the hoes, those lovely ladies whose flesh is the electronic word, who are stained with electric blood, I see them and I realize my connection to them is thin and tapering. Like a fucking tape worm. like a tanea, like a shitworm. THIN and long and tapering off into OLD AGE? Am I gradually fading away into that other world rather than bursting into with passion? It's entirely possible, it's entirely so, but you know, guys, you just don't seem particularly /happy/. I mean, you're all so god damned sad and so morose, and it's always "WHiNE WHINE WHINE WHINE WHEN I LOVED YOU, FRANKIE, WHEN I LOVED YOU AND THEN YOU DUMPED MY STUPID ASS AND THEN I CRIED AND SOMETIMES I CRY AND I CRY AND I CRY AND I HAVE NO MORE HOPE DUE TO ALL THE JAPANESE NOVELS I'VE READ", and I mean, I don't propound to be the happiest person alive, nor do I even want to be happy, having in fact placed my unsheathed sword dick inside the living flesh incarnation of that particular hilt, but Jesus Christ, I just couldn't maintain the energy and effort it must take to be so miserable so constantly. Hell, I couldn't maintain it for more than a hour last night, and that was after I went on the Boston Death Trip to see a movie I knew was going to be sold out and that I had no interest in seeing, and I left 30 minutes late. And in the end, my Milla Jovovich fascinating was fulfilled, more or less, and in the end I saw the movie I wanted to see. But it's like, you know, you guys, you don't even /know/ what movie you want to see. It's like you don't even want to see a movie, it's like you're stuck in the lobby and you don't have the $8 price of admission, and you don't even care to beat 11 year olds at Tekken 3. I mean, you're riding in Ed Gein's death car and you don't even have a destination. You just don't seem particularly happy or really particularly interesting, so I can't really do it anymore. So I've been forced to splinter my sphincter into a million different realities, converging TCP/IP packets as embodied by a 70 mile an hour drive around Thurber's Avenue Curb on 95 south, and let them all smash and collide into one another in the hopes that the juice which flows from the crushed bodies will be the sweetest possible nectar. You're wasting all this energy maintaining a sickening veneer of disreputable emotional decrepitude and you aren't even /going anywhere/ with it. The theater is closed and the lights are off, no one is applauding, and the film will never be projected. The best you can hope for is a circle-jerk mirror image of yourself whining as loudly as you. Like the Zombie Laura Croft in Tomb Raider. Your ultimate goal is the consumption of self into something that consumes the self. It sounds very zen, but it isn't. I know, I listen to Bush. I went to los angeles and I found a guy who basically is my asshole brother. He went on a pseudo-date with Pezmonkey. Apparently he's not a very happy person either, but at least he pretends when I'm around. Speaking of Alejandro Jodorowsky, I saw a post in alt.cult.movies which claims that the big A.J. is going to be direct Marilyn Manson's screenplay HOLYWEIRD. I wish Marilyn Manson would hurry up and stop biting my style. It's /so/ 1997, don't you think? Anyway, at the very least I'm happy to have my suspicions confirmed that uh the video for uh that song was basically just a rip off of THE HOLY MOUNTAIN interspersed with Billy Zane cruising for gay cock. "Hey dad, this is the guy I just sucked off on stage." You know? Oh speaking of queer ass faggots biting my old school styles: Unrelated, when are you going to stop using those NIN ultimate break beats and shit? Niggas keep recycling the same break beats for a million years. That shit is tired, and so are you. please stop writing text files. I'm sorry I ever made you a member of HOE. If I was ever going to write a file full of self-pity, the vast majority of the context would be me feeling bad for myself that I was stupid enough to allow Unrelated to become a full fledged member. I heard he's on a hitchhiking tour of all 48 continental states. Please shoot him on sight. Gosh guys, don't you think, you know, instead of sitting around feeling bad for yourselves, you could actually go out and DO SOMETHING? Like, I don't know... read about General Robert E. Lee's famous horse TRAVELER? Can't you go see the light of day? It's bright and penetrating and might shrivel your harpy heart, but at least uh, you'll have seen it once... Like fucking BRAD PITT watching SUPER MAN. I guess a lot of you like FIGHT CLUB. I guess a lot of you have bad taste. Remember, there's a whole world out there, and I wrote it all together with meaningless words, the women are all stained with blood, Tasha got some oral sEXXor, I longed for some oral sexxor, Dean wondered for the Nth time what happened to his genitalia, Bob Log clapped some tits, and the whole world came crashing down around us as the dreaded J2K bug kicked your fucking assholes. Yes, J2K... Jarett 2 Kobek, it's my latest project. yes, it's a Boyz 2 Men cover group. Starring robots. hell yes. Robots that look like Harvey Keitel and make his Bad Lutentinadnanent Dan seal noise. AARE YOU A COCK SUCKER DO YOU LIKE TO SUCK COCK LET ME SEE YOUR ASS LET ME SEE HOW YOU WOULD SUCK COCK OH YEAH SUCK THAT COCK LET ME SEE YOUR ASS THIS ISN'T THE NC-17 VERSION SO MY COCK ISN'T HERE BUT LET ME SEE YOU SUCK THE AIR COCK WHILE I WANK OH YES THERE IS YOUR FRIEND'S ASS THAT'S A KEEPER OH YES OH GOD YES GOD YES OH GOD YES OH OH GOD OOO DEEP SEA EXPLORING I SEE MANY NEW THINGS BUT I NEVER SAW AN ASS the things I could tell you about her ass. THE THINGS I COULD TELL YOU ABOUT /HER/ ASS. THE THINGS i COULD TELL you ABOUT HER ASS. the things I could tell you about her ass. Limitless world. - $#%:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::%#$ - Presenting joy and cleverness through understood bullshit. The E-ziner's E-zine, Where Piggies Frolic ______ 6/ ^..^ Be sincere. Persevere. @ @ @ @ @ \ ___ (oo) @ @ @ @ @ @ @ @ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ WW WW \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (c) HOE E'ZINE -- http://www.hoe.nu, contact: hoe@hoe.nu -> 1/9/00.